


Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

by GutterBall



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Chopped AU, Cussing, Fluff and Smut, Food Porn, M/M, cameos by other characters, crack and snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:04:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 41,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8364370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/pseuds/GutterBall
Summary: Raleigh Becket used to be the up-and-coming chef to beat in the competitive cooking show world. Then, after beating four Iron Chefs in a row, he disappeared, and everyone forgot about him.
Five years and four months later, he signs up for a new cooking show, The Cutting Board, because he and Yancy desperately need the money. The problem? The show's executives think to improve ratings by forcing him to pretend to be the gay ex-lover of current cooking wunderkind, Chuck Hansen, arrogant jerk extraordinaire.
Insert all cooking metaphors you like. They'll probably apply.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StrikersInDanger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikersInDanger/gifts).



> This one is all [strikersindanger's](http://strikersindanger.tumblr.com/) fault. There was, as usual, [a list of tumblr prompts](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/151639879237/strikersindanger-gutterballgt), and we did a thing, and it became a thing, and here it is.
> 
> Because it's me, there's food porn. Because I'm not actually a professional chef and haven't actually been on any of these shows, I'm hoping the food porn reads realistically. Tell me if it doesn't!
> 
> Also, thanks for all the tumblr peeps who helped with mystery ingredient suggestions. I tried to work in as many as I could!
> 
> Also also, look at this awesome title page made by [TheGroupofOne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGroupofOne/pseuds/TheGroupofOne)! 

"You can do this, kid."

Raleigh Becket eyed the conference room door at the end of the hall with trepidation, but Yancy just squeezed his shoulder and repeated the mantra.

"You can to this." An elbow nudge. "Just don't get cocky."

Finally finding a hint of a grin, he shot his jerk of a brother a narrow look. "Who, me?"

Snickering, Yancy gave him a shove to get him going, and Raleigh walked the rest of the way under his own power. He could do this. He'd been subconsciously training for this most of his life.

So he took a deep breath and walked through the door.

Several people stood or sat around a U-shaped conference table, and every damn one of them looked up with varying degrees of interest to judge the new arrival. Refusing to shrink under the sudden attention, Raleigh eyed them each in turn, trying to humanize them and make them less... intimidating.

It had been a long damn time. He'd been out of the game too long. He wasn't--

_You can do this, kid._

He squared his shoulders and focused. Seated to his left was a young Chinese man in a unavoidably red shirt and an equally young, tiny -- but somehow not fragile -- Japanese woman. Both began murmuring quietly in English, though both would probably rather use their own languages. As they conferred, they shot him measuring glances. Neither seemed too impressed, though both seemed curious.

At the tip of the U stood a hipster-looking schmuck who looked ready to vibrate out of his button-down shirt and an oddly dapper, vaguely ethnic guy with a tidy little bowtie and -- there was no other way to put it -- Elvis hair. A pompadour. But the Elvis hair guy smiled welcomingly enough, so Raleigh tentatively nodded back and moved on to the last occupant of the room.

This guy. Red-headed and freckled, built like a brick shithouse, and looking more like a mechanic than a contender in monochromatic grays and a scuffed leather coat, the guy to his right practically shouted "contentious asshole" without saying a word.

This would be the problem child. The thorn in his side. He could tell by the unimpressed and blatant appraisal, the cross-armed lean against the wall, the snort and immediate dismissal of the newcomer.

Definitely an asshole.

Whatever. He wasn't here to make friends.

Just to show he didn't care what the big ginger jerk thought of him, Raleigh casually strolled right in front of him and sat down, deliberately giving the prick his back. He also deliberately pretended not to hear the snort from behind him.

To his surprise, he looked up to find the Japanese woman giving him a hint of a nod and smirk. Unthinking, he did the same back. He didn't think the gesture was respect just yet, but maybe... a willingness to reserve judgment. A reassessment of initial impressions.

He'd take it. He knew he looked rough.

"Looks like we're all here." That was Elvis, making a quick checkmark on his clipboard. "Dr. Geiszler, it's all yours. The sponsors will be up in--" He checked his watch. "--five minutes. Get 'em acquainted, okay? I gotta make a call."

"Right." The hipster dude clapped his hands together as Elvis left the room, then took a somehow "carnival huckster" stance at the very tip of the U. "Let's get started. I'm Dr. Geiszler, the host, but please, call me Newt."

"What are you a doctor of?" That was the Chinese guy in the very red shirt.

"Neuroscience."

The red-head at his back snorted. "Then why the fuck are you hosting a lame-ass reality cooking show?"

This. Fucking. Guy. _Australian_ guy, at that. No mistaking that accent.

But the hipster huckster seemed unappalled. "I'm a foodie."

Four sets of eyes narrowed.

"What do you want from me? The economy sucks. I go where the money is." Flapping a hand as if to brush this away, the hyper little hipster moved on. "Look, you've all probably been on one cooking show or another. Wei Jin over there even has his own show." He gestured at the Chinese guy. "You know how this works. You get a handful of surprise off-the-wall ingredients and you have a set amount of time to cook harmonious ambrosia with them. Not difficult, right?"

The Japanese woman tilted her head. "So... this is Chopped?"

Another snort from the ginger Australian jerk. "More like a Chopped knock-off."

Call-Me-Newt eyed him with reproach. "This is _not_ a Chopped knock-off." The pause seemed deliberate. "Okay, fine. It's sort of a Chopped knock-off. We're calling it The Cutting Board instead of Chopped, it's a burlap sack instead of a picnic basket, and you'll be cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner instead of an appetizer, a dinner, and a dessert, okay? Someone gets eliminated with breakfast, someone gets eliminated with lunch, and should the dinner course end in a tie, there'll be a sudden death dessert course to determine a winner."

Good God, this yahoo talked fast. Raleigh was almost fascinated by all the gesticulations that went along with the manic word vomit.

What a way to get back into competition. If he didn't need the money so much, he'd probably walk away right now. He hated these stupid shows and everything that went with them.

Elvis Hair peeked his head back into the room. "No fires yet? Great. The sponsors are up."

Stepping fully in, the dapper little guy pointed a remote at a large viewscreen at the open end of the U. Raleigh hadn't even seen it yet. He'd been too interested in the competition.

A collage of people in little squares popped up, the center square slightly larger. The suit in the bigger square was as corporate as a business card, his hair perfectly styled, his tie an elegant silk in a subdued but not boring color, the actual suit worth more than Raleigh's whole life.

He hated dealing with the inevitable suits. Maybe he could just sit back and make himself small. Ol' Red behind him would likely be more than willing to do all the talking.

"There you are." A phony corporate smile. "Welcome, contestants. Universal Nutrition welcomes you to our newest endeavor."

Red muttered, but didn't actually interrupt.

"Now, if you would each state your name, where you're from, and a little -- very little -- about your experience, we can get started assigning personalities."

Ugh. Apparently, that part of the business hadn't changed.

"What the hell do you mean, 'assigning personalities'?"

For once, Raleigh was actually grateful for the Australian guy's brusque nature. The jerk sounded incredulous enough for all of them.

"I see we have a contender for Angry Hothead. You are?"

Okay. That was a little funny. Elvis certainly chuckled under his breath about it.

Bristling, the jerk stepped forward and leaned down, propping his fists on the table uncomfortably close to Raleigh. "Chuck Hansen, Australia." As if it wasn't obvious from the accent. "I've won damn near every cooking competition show on air in the past five years. Who the fuck are you?"

"Definitely the hothead. We'll have to put you at the end of the counter line so everyone has to go past you to get to the ingredients."

Well, shit.

"Next?"

"Oi!"

The Chinese guy cut him off by raising a hand. "Wei Jin, sir. I'm from Hong Kong. My brothers run two franchise restaurants there, I do a weekly local cooking show, and I won Iron Chef three years ago."

"Nice to meet you, sir. I remember you from Iron Chef, I think." The suit tilted his head. "Do I remember something about... car racing?"

For the first time, Wei Jin looked uncomfortable. "We... used to drift race, sir, but we had to stop."

A pudgy bald guy in another square spoke up in a British accident. "I seem to remember one of you was arrested?"

"Wei Hu, sir. It was a misunderstanding--"

"Excellent. We have a Bad Boy. Next?"

Wei Jin looked like he wanted to protest, but the Japanese woman prudently interceded. "I am Mako Mori, sir. I was born in Japan but raised in England. I have not competed yet, but Sensei and I have a very successful restaurant in London. Coyote Tango?"

The Brit square popped up again. "I've heard of that place. Spectacular cuisine, by all accounts. Welcome, Miss Mori."

The original suit nodded slowly. "I guess that makes you the naive ingenue."

She didn't look pleased by this, but she didn't protest, either. Interesting.

"Who else?"

Clearing his throat, Raleigh tried not to sound like an idiot. "Raleigh Becket, sir. From--"

"Raleigh Becket?" Uh-oh. The suit sat forward, the cool reserve gone for the moment. "Didn't you win Iron Chef four seasons in a row several years back?"

The ginger jerk shot him a wide-eyed look and stood away from the table. Raleigh tried not to notice.

"I did, sir."

"Jesus, son, I didn't even recognize you. What the hell happened?"

His jaw clenched. He should've known it wouldn't be so easy to step back into the ocean after paddling around in a pond. He should've known people would remember.

He also should've shaved. He was used to the stubble and rarely had time for such niceties as grooming these days, but even Yancy admitted it made him look like a homeless person. He just... forgot.

Fortunately, the hipster guy interrupted the awkward silence. "No offense, dude, but... that was kinda rude."

Great. He did _not_ need the show's host standing up for him.

But the suit sat up straight and touched his tie as if to straighten it. "Of course. Apologies." He didn't sound at all apologetic. "I suppose that makes you the returning hero shaking off an early retirement. We can work with that. And if you still have even half your talent, Mr. Becket, this should be one hell of a show."

Out of nowhere, the Australian guy snorted. "Says you. An ex car thief, a rookie, and a has-been? This'll be the most boring win I've ever clocked."

The suit eyed him, unperturbed. "You don't already have to be in character, son."

"Don't call me 'son', _sir."_

God, that accent was like a cat clawing at raw nerves. "Jesus, kid, can you just stop? We're gonna be here all day."

"Oi, I dunno where the fuck you've been the last five years, has-been, but I was hoping for an actual challenge this time."

"Alaska." His eyes narrowed. "As I was trying to say earlier."

He determinedly did not say what he'd been doing. That was none of this crowd's business. Yet.

The jerk's eyes rolled. "Alaska? Just fucking great. Do you know how to cook anything besides fish? Oi, don't put this wanker anywhere near me. I can't stand the smell."

"Jesus." That was the hipster again. Newt. "You two fight like an old married couple. Do you know each other or what?"

The protest was out before Raleigh even thought about it. Of course, the jerk was also protesting, more loudly and with far more Australian lingo than was surely warranted.

"Enough!"

Everyone fell silent. The suit again touched his tie, as if it had been loosened by his shout.

"Save it for the show, you two. Now--"

"That's not a bad idea, actually." That was the Brit again, stroking his jowls.

Annoyed at yet another interruption, the main suit sighed. "What?"

"Get them to play a couple."

He opened his mouth even as the jerk bristled even further beside him.

"No, better yet -- exes. Really bitter exes. Think of the drama!"

"Oi, I'm not--"

"Hey, that's not what I--"

But the suit talked right over them. "Oh, my God, you're right. It's... brilliant, actually. The hothead and the retired champion, former lovers, now rivals. Watch the sparks fly as the pressure mounts." Ignoring the continued protests, the corporate bastard actually rubbed his hands together. "The gay thing makes it even better. It'll look like we're branching out and being accepting."

Good God, he wanted to disappear into the floor. Nobody but Yancy and a few nameless blind dates knew he was even tempted in that direction, and now, he was about to be fake-outed on national goddamn television, and all for the sake of drama.

"That is the stupidest goddamn thing I've ever heard." Thankfully, his would-be ex hadn't lost a single step. "I've never even _met_ this wanker before. I thought this was supposed to be _reality_ TV, asshole!"

The Brit harumphed. "It's a perfectly viable suggestion, young man. And it will be ratings gold."

"I'm not pretending to have fucked this has-been for you wankers."

Sweet. Jumping. Christ.

"You will if you want to stay on the show."

Silence.

Crawling with misery and wishing like hell he'd just stayed in Alaska where he belonged and damn the potential prize money, Raleigh reluctantly glanced up from the spot on the table he'd been staring at.

"These are the personalities you've been assigned." The suit's tone brooked no argument. "Perform as directed, or you're off the show. There are hundreds of up-and-coming chefs who would cook babies to be where you four are right now."

He winced... but he didn't get up and leave. He couldn't.

Yancy was counting on him.

Unfortunately, the giant Australian jerk didn't leave, either. Neither did Wei Jin or Miss Mori. Apparently, every single one of them had too much to lose.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, the hipster douchebag clapped his hands together again. "Well. That's all set then. Gonna be a great show, everyone."

Groaning, Raleigh put his head in his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

There wasn't much to talk about after the bombshell ending to the conference call. Elvis Hair finally introduced himself as Tendo Choi, the show's producer and main cameraman, then shooed them off to get a good night's sleep before the taping tomorrow.

Raleigh desperately needed it. He was jetlagged and clearly looked like hell. And was frustrated that he had to deal with this shit in the first place.

It didn't help that the Australian jerk -- what had he called himself? he was too fried to remember -- brushed by him in the hallway, practically shoulder-checking him into the wall, and muttered, "If we have to be exes, we're the kind that doesn't fucking speak. Got it?" as he strolled off ahead.

On the plus side, he made a few strides with Miss Mori when he heard her muttering to herself in her native tongue about the jerk's manners and answered back, in rusty but serviceable Japanese, that some people had no class. Her dark eyes popped wide, but she smiled softly and again gave him that little nod before following the jerk down the hall.

He'd always had a knack for languages. Thanks to his mother, he'd actually learned to speak French before learning English. His father hadn't liked that, though.

Shaking off the unwanted memory, he nodded once to Wei Jin -- the poor guy looked ready to chew bricks, either about being called a car thief or about being stuck with the Bad Boy role -- and made his own way down the hall to where Yancy hopefully still waited for him. This little trip down Memory Lane was already shaping up like a fever dream nightmare ride on a subway to hell.

But Yance stood up and smirked, and he decided he'd do it. A hundred times over.

"That bad, huh?"

He managed at least half a grin. "Is it that obvious?"

"So what's the drama?"

They headed to the elevator without consulting on it, and Raleigh shoved his hands into his jeans pockets to keep from gesturing too broadly.

"Well, we have a bad boy who's actually pretty clean cut, though I question his taste in really loud shirts; a sweet, young ingenue who's never done one of these competitions before but has a lot more backbone than she wants to show just yet; and an arrogant hothead who's won everything and still isn't satisfied. Pretty sure he'd fight the sky if he thought it was talking shit."

Yancy snickered as the elevator doors opened. "And who are you?"

The half a grin faded, and he quickly stepped into the box. Suddenly, he just wanted out of this building.

"Rals?"

He sighed as the world dropped out from under him. Or the elevator started down. Either way.

"I'm the worn-out, retired football player back for one last blaze of glory before I hang up my pads for good." He huffed something that might have been a chuckle if he felt anything like laughing. "Oh, and just for extra flavor, I apparently used to date the hothead, but it ended badly, and now we're bitter rivals."

He felt his brother's attention sharpen to a razor point. "They're outing you on national television?"

His jaw clenched. "They didn't ask and I didn't explain. I don't think they even care if we're actually gay. Or bi, or whatever. They just want to sell the drama."

"Jesus. No wonder you look like you got hit in the face with a shovel."

A snicker caught him by surprise, and he eyed his jerk of a brother with both fondness and suspicion. "That is a weirdly specific description."

"It seemed appropriate." But Yancy's amusement was forced, at best. "Look, Rals. You don't have to do this. We'll find another way."

He shook his head as the elevator slowed and settled. "There isn't one. We tried." He sighed. "I'm so tired, Yance."

The doors opened, but neither of them moved just yet. They'd come so far, but it just wasn't enough. They needed money, and lots of it.

So, he abruptly stood straight and squared his shoulders. It was just a part to play. What did he care if a nation of strangers found out he was gay? What did he care if he had to fake being the bitter ex up against his younger, more competitive former lover?

He was a damn good cook. Not as good as Yancy, but quicker-thinking and a lot more flexible, which was why he tended to fare better on these stupid shows. A little reckless, yes, but it had worked for him five years ago, and it'd probably work for him just as well now.

He could do this.

So he forced a grin and chucked his big brother on the upper arm. "That's all tomorrow. What say tonight, we have a shitty draft beer and a terrible, greasy diner burger and pass out for twelve hours straight?"

Because Yancy was the best brother in the world, for all that he could be a huge pain in the ass, he snorted and strode out into the busy lobby. "Said as if your insomniac ass has slept more than three hours in a row in your entire life."

Hurrying after, he elbowed the jerk in the ribs. "Blame it on my ADD, baby."

Yancy, of course, elbowed back, and they left the hated studio administration building squabbling like the children they would probably always be.

Tomorrow would take care of itself.


	3. Chapter 3

He felt like he was going to puke. Again.

Once the competition was under way, Raleigh knew he'd be fine. But the lead-up. The standing around. The knowledge that the cameras were rolling and would catch his every little expression and every little fuck-up.

Swallowing against another wave of nausea, he shot a glance at his competitors and found Miss Mori looking at him, her head tilted to one side. She looked different somehow, and it took him a moment to place it.

Her hair. She'd had it all up in a knot yesterday at the meeting. Today, she'd let two angled tendrils fall forward to frame and accent her delicate face. Her hair was inky black, but the tips of those two loose wedges were dyed a vivid blue. It was unexpected, but it... suited her. Raleigh suspected Mako Mori had a lot of unexpected sides.

So, though he still felt like ralphing up everything he'd ever eaten, he managed a lopsided grin that she returned before looking away.

At the front of the line, Wei Jin was focused on the competition ahead, his game face fully engaged. The guy looked neither left nor right but straight ahead. It was a good psyche-up technique. Raleigh didn't blame him.

Plus, the guy looked professional as hell in his screaming-red silk chef smock. Even Mako was wearing black chef wear, though she'd probably regret the color under the studio lights.

He really should have tried to dress less... casual. In his dark blue sweater and worn, faded jeans, he looked more like a kindergarten teacher than a chef. Thankfully, his fake ex looked more casual still, decked out in what could actually be the same gray t-shirt and pants as yesterday.

Already, the Australian asshole looked a weird combination of bored, irritated, and arrogant, arms crossed and biceps bulging out of his short sleeves. The big bastard looked like he'd just come from the gym after overhauling an engine. And those boots. God, they looked heavy.

They also looked like murder on the feet, but they were so worn-in that they couldn't be. No sane chef wore shoes that weren't supportive and comfortable at the start of a long day.

None of his business. Even if the jerk was supposed to be his hostile ex.

"Everybody ready?"

The backstage guy -- not Tendo, who was out on the set with a handheld camera -- gestured for them to line up. Shit. This was really happening.

 _Get your shit together._ He nodded, his mental voice strong and sure.

 _Don't get cocky._ Yancy's voice, that time. A little smug, like always.

Finally grinning, he felt the nausea fade into the background. He could do this.

"Hello! I'm Dr. Newt Geiszler, and on behalf of Principle Production Design Concepts, I'd like to welcome you to... The Cutting Board! Sponsored by Universal Nutrition!"

Jesus. Call-Me-Newt sounded just as hyperkinetic as ever. The live studio audience applauded politely. Yancy was out there. Maybe they all had family out there. He was willing to bet Wei Jin's brothers were, at least. Did Miss Mori have anyone? The annoying Aussie?

"Thank you, thank you. Before we get into this, let's introduce our panel of illustrious judges."

A convenient bank of monitors off to the left showed the three mounted cameras' movements, and Raleigh couldn't help but watch, hoping to learn something that might help. He needed any edge he could get.

"First, you know him from his chain of Brooklyn-Szechuan fusion restaurants... Hannibal Chau! Give him a hand!"

Brooklyn-Szechuan... what? What did that even mean? Chinese food on pizza?

The camera zoomed in on a great, hulking beast of a man in a crimson velvet suit with... were those goggles? And gold-grilled teeth, plainly visible as he smiled broadly and waved a hand with a tattoo on the back.

Jesus. What a weirdo.

"You may know my restaurants, but you definitely know my all-organic produce stores. From Hong Kong to back home in Brooklyn, my boys make sure everyone can get their hands on top shelf local and exotic organic produce at a reasonable price."

Oh. A used car salesman. Some of the persona made sense now.

Still. Weirdo.

The camera switched back to Geiszler, who nodded frenetically. "I have no doubt some of your more exotic produce will end up in our burlap sacks, Mr. Chau."

"Just Chau." Man, did all that gold glitter in the stage lights. "Please."

Geiszler twitched. "Our next judge comes all the way from Mother Russia. You've seen her award-winning cooking show, _From Russia With Love_ , right here on our channel. Please give a warm welcome to... Chef Sasha Kaidanovsky!"

The camera panned over to the most intimidating woman Raleigh had ever seen. Even her smile seemed like a bite in the making. Her hair, the platinum blonde gleaming like the moon in the harsh glare of the studio lights, was twisted severely back from her coldly beautiful face in sections, not a strand out of place. She could have been carved from the ice of her homeland.

She was _amazing._

"Thank you, little man." Where her appearance was all ice and diamond-edged sharpness, her voice was low, husky, and warm. "I promise not to eat any contestants."

The audience chuckled.

"I make no such promise for our host."

Call-Me-Newt cringed, but the audience only laughed more freely. "I'm... gamey?"

Chau snorted -- as did the Aussie, and how long had the jerk been hovering just behind him? -- but the lady only looked Geiszler over from toes to head, then slowly smiled. So many teeth.

"Is what marinade is for, yes?"

Despite himself, Raleigh found himself grinning. "I like her."

The jerk crowding up in his blind spot snorted again. "She'd chew you up and spit you out like a mulcher, Yank. You've clearly not seen her husband."

The jerk pointed at the monitor just behind and to the right of Chef Kaidanovsky. At the largest man Raleigh had ever seen.

"Jesus. Is she married to a goddamn grizzly?"

Was that an actual chuckle instead of a snort? "Pretty sure that big bastard weighs a few stone more than that."

Before he could comment -- because that, surprisingly, was the closest thing to a pleasant conversation he was likely to have with his faux ex -- the audience quit applauding enough for Call-Me-Newt to move on.

"And last but certainly not least, on loan from the most distinguished culinary institute in Europe... Dr. Hermann Gottlieb! Say hello, Hermann!"

The audience applauded, but the stodgy guy in the sweater vest and button-up only glared at the host. "I have asked you not to call me that."

"Yes, yes, ten years' culinary expertise, Chef Gottlieb, blah blah." Flapping a negligent hand, Geiszler hurried on before the unimpressed judge could knock him down a few more pegs. "And that's our panel of judges, ladies and gentlemen! Now, this is how the show works."

Raleigh tuned out for the moment to steady himself. Tendo had gone over the show's format in excruciating detail earlier, so he didn't need to hear this bit. He did, however, need to focus.

He could do this. He _would_ do this.

_Piece of cake._

God, he hoped he didn't get all the way to the dinner course and somehow tie and have to make dessert. They never allotted enough time for real baking.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, it's time to meet our master chefs!"

The jerk muttered something that probably wasn't complimentary, but Raleigh blocked it out. He didn't want to hear it. Game face.

It was time to learn about the competition.


	4. Chapter 4

"First, a face many of you know well, please welcome Chef Wei Jin!"

The Chinese guy rolled his shoulders, plastered on a slightly tilted grin, and strode out into the glare. Raleigh turned to watch his progress across the stage floor to stand in front of the judges. The guy looked cool and confident. Good for him.

"Hello, gentlemen and lady." He bowed respectfully at the waist. "I am honored to meet you. Please, call me Chef Jin."

The judges all dipped their heads with various levels of polite greeting. Newt stepped closer and threw an arm over the poor guy's shoulders.

"So, Chef Jin, tell us a little about why you're here."

Again, the Aussie jerk leaned in just enough to be encroaching. "He tries that with me, I'll tear off his arm and shove it up his ass."

Despite his dislike of this new disregard for personal space, Raleigh smirked. "Nah. Keep it and use it as a garnish later. Plating is everything."

A snort, and the jerk backed off.

Then, out of nowhere, he realized Miss Mori had inched closer, as well. He glanced down to find her studying the monitors closely, her eyes not cold but definitely calculating. She was no one's shy ingenue.

To his surprise, he realized he liked her. They'd barely exchanged a sentence, but he liked her.

"--so we decided to prove them wrong. Prove we were more than punk kids with no future." Oops. He'd missed most of Please-Call-Me-Jin's story. "And we have. My brothers have both opened House of Wei restaurants and are doing very well. When I win tonight, I will use the prize money to open my own House of Wei location in the home neighborhood."

Raleigh nodded. The guy didn't outright play the Bad Boy card, but he _had_ apparently at least alluded to some past misdeeds. Smart. It gave him an edge without making him seem dangerous.

"Cool story, bro."

Newt took his arm back and gestured toward the first counter section. Jin went, but not without a very pointed look at the hyper little host.

"Next, we have a newbie to the cooking show circuit, Chef Mako Mori!"

She squared her shoulders, brushed at a blue-tipped wedge of hair, and strode into the light. Raleigh again turned to the monitors, this time with a more personal interest. Sure, he wanted to win, but he was also just curious about this quiet, seemingly naive, but clearly strong competitor.

The Aussie jerk stepped closer again, his attention solely on the monitors, which suited Raleigh right down to the ground.

"Good day to you." She bowed politely. "I am so pleased to meet you all."

Again, the judges nodded, as was polite. Newt crowded in, but a quick side-eye from Mako discouraged him from touching her.

Raleigh snickered. He really, really liked this woman.

"So, Chef Mori, please tell us why you decided to join a cooking competition?"

Her attention now solely on the judges, she looked them each in turn. "When I was very young, my parents both died. I thought the world was over." She lowered her head for a moment, then lifted her chin. "A very good man adopted me and taught me everything he knows about the craft. I am here to make him proud." She nodded toward the audience. "Sensei, I will not let you down."

For a moment, Raleigh thought she was indicating the giant bear of a Russian, but his confusion ended when a very familiar form suddenly stood up from behind the Kaidanovsky fellow.

"I'll be buggered."

Too astonished to retort, Raleigh stared as Stacker Goddamn Pentecost, a ghost from his own past, coolly ignored the sudden round of applause from the audience and had eyes only for his adopted daughter.

Jesus. Mako was Pentecost's _daughter_.

Awkward.

Thankfully, even Newt seemed thrown by the revelation. "Wait wait wait." Incredulous, he flailed a bit. "You're telling me your adoptive father is Stacker _Pentecost?_ The most devastating, most feared Iron Chef in the show's history? The Iron Chef who was only ever defeated twice?"

Lips numb, Raleigh managed a whisper. "Three times."

The Aussie shot him a look, even as Pentecost chuckled a bit and intoned "Three times, actually" in that deep, sepulchural voice of his.

He knew the statistic well, of course. He'd been Number Three.

"Well." Still flummoxed -- and, frankly, Raleigh didn't blame him -- Newt huffed a bit. "I guess you're in pretty good company, Chef Mori. Please, take your station."

Oh, shit. He was next. And he had to follow... _that._

Fuck his life.

"Yeah, anyway. Movin' on." Geiszler shook off the rest of his fluster. "I'm sure plenty of you -- Chef Pentecost, especially--"

_Goddammit, Geiszler._

"--will recognize this next face. Ladies and gents, please welcome... Chef Raleigh Becket!"

"Almost feel sorry for you, Ray."

Flustered and irritated and wishing he could just turn around and walk out of the studio, Raleigh tossed his response over his shoulder as he stalked away.

"Don't call me Ray, _babe."_

"Oi!"

Finding a smirk after all, Raleigh strode into the glare.


	5. Chapter 5

_Say whatever you want. If it's too long, we can edit it down later. Just be yourself._

Tendo's words from earlier echoed in Raleigh's brain as he let his eyes and heartrate adjust to the stage's overly-lit atmosphere. He probably shouldn't have worn the damn sweater, knowing how hot it'd get in a studio kitchen, but he could always take it off later. He'd worn an undershirt, just in case.

And he'd shaved. And cleaned up a bit. And didn't look like he'd last slept sometime before Obama was elected.

The Aussie jerk had done a double-take on first seeing him this morning, so he must have done something right.

Geiszler stepped in close, and Raleigh recovered enough to shoot him a look that discouraged physical contact in any way. Taking the silent hint, Newt didn't completely invade his space and gestured to the panel.

"As you remember, judges, Chef Becket here is the only contestant to beat four Iron Chefs, winning each time he competed. The last time was, in fact, against Chef Pentecost up there. So, Chef Raleigh -- can I call you Chef Raleigh? -- can you tell us why we haven't seen you for, what, five years?"

Of course. Well, he knew he'd have to explain at some point. Might as well get it out of the way.

"First off, let me just say that it's a pleasure to meet you all." Like the others, he bowed respectfully at the waist. "It's been a long time, so I don't recognize any of you--" He paused for a few chuckles. "--but I hope you won't hold that against me."

Chef Kaidanovsky dipped her head on a return nod, like the other two, then tilted it to eye him. "Tell us, little Becket, why so long?"

_Don't fidget. Don't fidget._

So he swallowed hard and lowered his eyes instead. "Some of you may remember that my brother Yancy and I ran our mother's restaurant after she passed away. He was nineteen and I was sixteen, but we did it." He didn't look up, didn't seek out Yancy's comforting face, but the quiet mutter of assent assured him. "Five years and four months ago, a freak power surge started an electrical fire, and it burned to the ground. With us in it."

This murmur was much louder. And accompanied by lots of shifting in the seats.

He had no intention of going into detail. Of reliving it in front of all these strangers. Of remembering Yancy's clinging weight as Big Bro flung himself on top of Little Bro in hopes of protecting him. The throat-clenching stink of scalding cloth and burning flesh as Yancy's back took the brunt of the inferno and they both silently determined that they'd die together because neither was leaving alone.

Squaring his shoulders, he raised his head and looked at the judges, ignoring the audience. He didn't try to guess what their expressions meant. He didn't care.

"I've spent the last five years working double and triple shifts at whatever construction job I could get to pay Yancy's medical bills and rebuild the structure, but it's not enough. If I win today, the prize money will go toward appliances, tables, and inventory so we can finally reopen our mother's favorite place in the world and start living our lives again."

The studio lights were too bright. He felt like he couldn't see anything. It was time to bow out and let the Aussie hothead do his thing.

Bowing again, he backed away. "Thank you."

He doubted the slow surge of applause was as loud as it sounded in his echoing ears. He felt... he didn't know how he felt. He just wanted the competition to start so he could bury himself in the work.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Geiszler gestured for quiet. "I guess... that explains a lot? So... on to our final chef. This is a face -- and personality -- everyone here knows. Please welcome... Chef Chuck Hansen!"

Chuck. _That_ was the Aussie jerk's name. He should probably remember it.

Considering he was probably supposed to have screamed it in passion at some point.

Some of the fog rolled away, and he managed a small grin as Chef Hansen strolled into the glare, looking about seven feet tall in those heavy, knee-high, metal-shinned boots and broad as a barn in all that gray. In fact, if the jerk hadn't been such an arrogant prick, Raleigh could almost think him attractive, freckles and all.

Too bad.

"No introductions necessary, yeah?" Hansen smirked, and... holy shit, was that a dimple? The Aussie suddenly looked ten years younger, even with the hint of sarcasm about him. "I know who you all are, and you definitely know me. Let's get this show on the road."

Good God, what a smug bastard. Narrowly avoiding shaking his head, he watched as the jerk pivoted with almost military efficiency and just walked away while Newt sort of sputtered after him.

"Wei." A nod. "Mori." Another nod as Hansen made his way down to his counter.

Uh-oh.

"Ray." Another. Fucking. Nod.

He grit his teeth. Two could play that game.

"Don't call me Ray, Hansen."

Another smirk, and dammit, the bastard had _two_ dimples. It just wasn't fair. "Don't call me Hansen, _precious."_

The audience murmured as they glared at each other. Mortified but refusing to show it, Raleigh pulled forth his best resting bitchface and wondered if maybe it wouldn't be super easy to play this jerk's bitter ex, after all.

Tendo _had_ told him to be himself.

"Uh...." Newt chuckled nervously. "I guess it's not much of a secret that Chef Hansen and Chef Becket have... some history."

More murmurs, and the goggled weirdo, Chau, sat back and grinned broadly, his gold grill practically glittering. "That'll be interesting."

Chef Kaidanovsky eyed them both as Hansen took his place behind his stretch of counter -- just down from Raleigh, of course. "So, Little Becket is patient as well as tragic."

Raleigh bit his lip to keep from smirking. He didn't know how he felt about "Little Becket", but he definitely liked the queenly Russian judge. He'd have to start watching her show.

"Maybe not so patient." Fuck it. He might as well let himself smirk. "It is, after all, history."

Murmurs and chuckles from the audience, a toothy smile from the lady Kaidanovsky, and he would almost swear Chau just winked. Hard to tell, what with the goggles.

Hansen, of course, glared daggers at him.

Chef Gottlieb, on the other hand, only rolled his eyes. "Good God, people, may we please move along?"

"Right!" Geiszler clapped his hands and turned to the main camera. "Now that we're all acquainted, it's time to get cookin'!"

He fought not to roll his eyes. He'd forgotten how cheesy these shows could be.

"Would the chefs please open their burlap sacks?"

Game face. He reached out and pulled the ugly, homespun-looking bag closer and untied the stupid twine from the neck of it.

Pretzel sticks. Pears. And a small bottle of brandy.

He couldn't help himself. He picked it up and waved it at the camera. "For breakfast? Really?"

The audience tittered, and Newt rolled his eyes.

He could do this, though. A plan already took shape, and he started mentally tallying what he'd need from the shelves. He wouldn't put it past Hansen to shank him as he passed by, so he definitely didn't want to have to think on the run.

"And your thirty minutes to create a breakfast incorporating all three elements begins... now!"

Good thing he was finally ready.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't a surprise when a hand reached for the same bottle of ground clove that he was reaching for. If it had been Hansen, Raleigh might have been a jerk about it. Luckily, it was Chef Mori.

Quirking a grin, he backed off. "Can I get that when you're done?"

Her eyebrows rose, but she tipped her head once. "Of course, Chef Becket."

"Just Raleigh. And thanks."

Of course, they didn't actually have time for idle chitchat, so he'd been stuffing ingredients into the crook of his arm the whole time. She did much the same.

"And I am Mako."

"Right." Ugh. Hansen. "Now, if the meet-cute's over, loves, d'ya mind shoving off?"

His eyes narrowed even as he edged to the side to make room. "Jealous, babe?"

Mako's eyes widened, and she abruptly spun and headed back to her counter.

"You don't get to call me babe anymore, _precious."_

But the jerk, too, was loading up on flour and eggs and other staples, so Raleigh just rolled his eyes and palmed a few eggs of his own before walking away. Because he was an adult.

And Hansen wasn't _actually_ his ex.

But they'd probably made the studio happy enough, so he could forget the faux-reality bullshit and focus on his meal. French toast to honor his mother, who had always laughed about living a stereotype for being a French chef.

Anyway. A dash of the brandy would go in the egg wash -- not enough to curdle anything; just a taste -- and his mother's sneaky sprinkle of sage for a savory edge. A quick cinnamon pear/cranberry compote -- _don't forget to ask Mako for the cloves, dammit_ \-- with a bit more brandy and some grated fresh ginger. Shouldn't take more than ten minutes to stew. Maybe a quick brown sugar/brandy reduction syrup to drizzle over the toast. And a crumble of crushed pretzels, of course.

He'd like to do better than just a garnish for the stupid pretzel sticks, though. The sage and ginger would add enough savory to keep the meal from being too sweet, as would the salt on the pretzels, but... it wasn't enough.

He worked while he mulled it over, crushing pretzels and chopping pears and stirring in spices -- including the ground clove, thank God -- then had a brainwave just before he dipped the first slice of Texas toast in the egg wash. Hiding a relieved grin, he dumped a pile of pretzel crumbles onto a plate, egged the bread, then pressed each edge of the crust into the crumbs.

Perfect. The egg would cook fast enough to keep them from getting soggy. They'd add a nice crunch to the crust. It even looked nice.

He made two slices for each judge -- and a spare pair for the cutting board reveal, of course -- stirred his compote until he was sure the cranberries had softened enough, and glanced at the clock.

Five minutes left. Perfect.

Confident that he'd done his best, he headed for the tableware shelves to pick his plates. Hansen, though, was hogging most of the aisle between the ranges and the counters, so he had to side-step by. He'd almost made it when Hansen, the prick, stepped back.

At first, he thought it was on purpose, and he opened his mouth to protest such a dick move. Unfortunately, the big jerk's sudden spine-stiffening tension proved he hadn't realized Raleigh was there at all.

_Don't do it._

But he already was. Lightly touching the jerk's hip, he pressed juuuuuuust that much closer and leaned in to murmur into the red-tipped ear.

"Oh, sorry, babe."

He didn't linger. He wasn't out to cheat. But it was almost beautiful to watch the big bastard -- really just a kid who couldn't be too far into his twenties -- color up completely, eyes wide and jaw clenched, and stare after him as he went on to the shelves.

After an eternity of tense silence, Hansen finally practically growled at him. "I told you not to call me that, ya wanker."

Grinning, he selected square white plates and small straight-edged white cups for the compote and debated whether or not to do the thing.

Eh, what the hell. He was basically done.

So, as he strolled back through the very wide gap Hansen now gave him, he winked. "You sure liked it when I was going down on you."

Let the censors worry about it.

To his admittedly childish glee, the jerk spluttered. "Oi! Fuck you, I never liked it!"

That, too.

Tamping down his amusement, he widened his eyes and tried to look tragic. Yancy was probably about to fall out of his seat at this point.

Which, oddly, made it worth it.

"You never liked me going down on you?"

This time, the sputtering was accompanied by actual flailing. Mostly because the jerk had been selecting plates and damn near dropped one in surprise.

"That is not what I said, goddammit!"

The light cinnamon and clove dusting around the edges of the plate looked gorgeous, so he let his mouth curve on a slow Grinch smirk. "So you _did_ like it when I went down on you."

The epic blush didn't hide the murderous glare from those weirdly bright-colored eyes. Bluish grey? Maybe green? Hard to tell, what with all the murder-glare.

"Don't. Call me. Babe. _Asshole."_

He should let the kid plate. Time was ticking down, and he really wasn't a cheat. He wanted to win, but he definitely didn't want to give this competitive prick a reason to question the fairness of said win.

But he couldn't help himself. "What happened to precious?"

A plate slammed down. "Goddammit, Ray--!"

Worth it.


	7. Chapter 7

"Chef Jin, would you please tell us about your dish?"

Raleigh refused to fidget as he waited his turn. He hated this part, though. He'd never been that chatty a guy, quips aside, and he hated having to explain his food.

Plus, he hated being sequestered in a back room with a camera still rolling, watching his opponents explain their choices, one after the other, on yet another monitor. At least it was Tendo behind the handheld in the room with them. A friendly face went a long way.

"Honored judges, as you know, where I am from, breakfast is not bacon and eggs."

Jin, smiling softly, paused for a few chuckles from the audience. Raleigh nodded to himself. It was always good to get a pleasant laugh from the Peanut Gallery.

"So I have created for you a traditional Chinese breakfast dim sum. First are deep-fried ground pretzel dough sticks and soybean milk flavored with brandy. Next are steamed buns filled with bean paste, pear, creamy brandied custard, and toasted sesame seeds. Finally, I have created a sweet pear congee with cinnamon and nutmeg. Thank you."

Jin bowed and backed away, and the monitor went black. They didn't get to see the judges actually deliberate.

No. They got to be gut-wrenchingly surprised in front of an audience if their food was hated.

Thankfully, after all the shenanigans earlier, Hansen stayed well away from him, and he was able to actually close his eyes and rub his temples a bit, resting his elbows on the standing-height table in the middle of the room.

"The lights are very bright, aren't they?"

He glanced up and smiled a bit at the hesitant look on Miss Mori's face. "I forgot _how_ bright, actually. And how hot it gets."

She nodded, her brow furrowed. "I did not expect that. Sensei never mentioned it."

Right. Awkward.

But she must have sensed his sudden reticence because her expression cleared and she smiled softly. "Yes, he spoke of you. You were... not what I expected."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll bet." He tilted his head. "Better or worse?"

Her eyes twinkled, but she declined to answer. He couldn't help but grin. He did like her. He hoped she stayed in the contest. If he had to lose, he didn't think he'd mind if it was to her.

The door opened, and Jin walked in, looking much less confident than he had onstage. He started to go stand in the opposite corner from Hansen, then abruptly changed his mind and strode toward the table instead.

They didn't speak. They just waited. Tendo even went so far as to let the handheld camera slump so he could roll his head around on his neck until it popped.

Finally -- it couldn't have been nearly as long a wait as it seemed -- the door opened. "Chef Mori?"

Stone-faced, she straightened her shoulders and left the room. Abruptly, Raleigh regretted not wishing her good luck. Not that she needed it. Just... he hoped she did well.

The monitor flickered back on, and he turned to watch it as she strode across to stand before the judging panel.

"Chef Mori, what have you prepared for us today?"

Her voice was steady and confident as she answered. "As my esteemed competition, Chef Jin, explained, traditional breakfast in Japan is not bacon and eggs. In fact, breakfast tends to be much like any other meal, but smaller in proportion." She smiled a bit. "However, I am also influenced by a hearty English breakfast."

Lo and behold, but Chef Gottlieb actually chuckled. It was the first non-annoyed expression Raleigh had seen from the man.

_Well done, Mako._

"Thus, I have created for you brandy-steamed jasmine rice and natto with smoked kipper. Also, we have Greek yogurt with chopped pear and pickled plum and a crumbled cinnamon pretzel topping. Finally, tamagoyaki, a rolled omelet stuffed with brandied clove ham and gingered pear. I hope you enjoy. Thank you."

Damn. She was good. Raleigh had never liked natto -- it was as much the slimy texture as the salty, fermented taste -- but if the brandy sweetened the rice enough to counter that salt, and if she'd used fresh instead of salted or pickled kipper, she had probably won the whole damn thing with that dish alone.

And he sort of wanted that rolled omelet. It sounded amazing.

She strode back into the room and immediately moved to stand next to him. He grinned down at her, proud and not ashamed of it. She was a wonder.

So they stood, quiet and shoulder to shoulder, until it was Raleigh's turn.

"Chef Becket?"

He rolled his shoulders. It was game time.


	8. Chapter 8

Newt's quick introduction went right past him because, for the first time, he let himself look for Yancy in the audience. Once he found him -- God, he hadn't realized how much he needed that familiar, crooked, encouraging smile until just now -- Raleigh smiled and began.

"In honor of our French mother, I've made you all pretzel-crusted, brandied French toast with cinnamon pear/cranberry compote."

Shit. Now that he said it out loud, it didn't sound like much. Both Asian dishes had comprised several different components, but all he had was egg toast and fruit.

Worse, both Chef Gottlieb and the gold-grilled weirdo eyed him as if expecting him to continue.

Fuck it. He'd own it.

"Sorry. I'm a man of few words."

Yancy snickered. Raleigh shot him a Brother Look, mouth twitching on a smirk. The rest of the audience remained quiet.

Then, to his surprise, Chef Kaidanovsky actually nodded at him. "You say what you mean, Little Becket. That is all that matters."

His eyebrows rose, but he restrained himself to a short bow. "Thank you. I hope you all enjoy."

His pivot wasn't quite as military as Hansen's had been, but he didn't care. He'd done what he was supposed to do. He hated having to describe his own food. It was perhaps his least favorite part of these damn shows.

Definitely not something he'd missed.

Unfortunately, when he walked back into the waiting room, the first thing he saw was Hansen, still leaning in the corner with his arms crossed, smirking right at him. Rolling his eyes, he ignored the big jerk and rejoined Mako and Jin at the little round table in the middle of the room. She leaned over and bumped shoulders, giving him a little grin that he returned with interest.

Soon, they'd call for his Aussie jerk of a fake ex, and then would come the bullshit one-on-one interviews that he also hadn't missed all these years. The studio would cut into them any time there was a lull in the main action or any time they wanted to throw a little drama fuel on the competition fire, so they highly encouraged contestants to... vent. About the ingredients, about the show, about the difficulty of the competition, and most especially about the competitors themselves.

Any dirt they could point up between chefs was reality TV gold.

"Chef Hansen?"

He didn't want to watch the jerk perform. But he did need to get an idea how well Hansen had done. And he admitted to a certain curiosity. The Aussie didn't look like a chef at all, multiple wins or no multiple wins. What the hell was his appeal?

So he found himself watching the monitor as it flicked on and Chuck Hansen strolled cockily up to the panel.

Newt gestured vaguely. "Welcome back, Chef Hansen. Wanna tell us what you made?"

To his surprise, the arrogant jerk lowered his head. "I only barely remember my mum. Most of you lot don't know she died when I was ten. My old man is a baker, but my mum was a _chef,_ and she made her special crepes every Sunday morning for brekkie. I dunno why, but I watched like a hawk every time."

Was... was that a grin? A tiny, sincere one? With just a hint of dimple?

"I could make her crepes with my eyes closed."

Jesus. All three judges and the entire audience was silent, practically on the edge of their seats. This was clearly a much different animal than the Chef Hansen they were used to.

"I like to think she's watching right now." The ginger head came back up. "And telling me to crush my competition with world-ending awesome crepes drizzled with a brandy walnut reduction, sprinkled with chopped, toffeed pretzel crumbs, and paired with brandy-poached pear slices."

Raleigh snorted. For a split second, he'd actually empathized with the kid, recognizing a fellow feeling of melancholy at being able to make a mother's favorite, even when the mother was gone.

And then... that mouth.

Newt, however, was still a description back. "Jesus. Your mother died, too? What is this, the all-orphan episode or something?"

Raleigh blinked, not sure if he should be angry or appalled or both.

Hansen... Chuck... straight-up glared. "You do realize my old man's sitting right there in the front row."

"I'm serious!" Great. Now the hyper little hipster started gesticulating. "Chef Jin's family disowned them after the car thing, Chef Mori's parents died when she was a kid, Chef Becket's mother died and his drunk of a father ran off and abandoned them, and now your mother's gone, too?"

Ouch. He'd sort of hoped no one remembered that part. Thanks to his deadbeat dad fucking off into the winds, he and Yancy had further lost Jazmine to foster care. She'd run away in less than a month. They'd hired several private investigators over the years up until the fire, blowing money they could ill afford, with no result. Either she didn't want to be found, or....

Mako bumped her shoulder against his again, looking up at him with quiet concern. Forcing at least half of his mouth to curve up, he shook his head. Everyone had history. His wasn't unique or special in the grand scheme of things.

Unfortunately, his moment of introspection had distracted him just enough that he didn't hear Chuck's rejoinder, and the monitor was already off when he shook himself back to awareness. Worse, when the kid stormed back into the waiting room, the first thing he did was glare straight at Raleigh for a long, tense moment.

Then, he nodded. Just once. An acknowledgement.

He'd take it. So, he nodded back.


	9. Chapter 9

"Just say something about the other chefs. Real quick."

Raleigh raised an eyebrow, but Tendo only shrugged. So, he took a deep breath and tried to remember that he was supposed to be the crusty old retiree back for one last hurrah. Gracious, then, rather than petty.

Which, thankfully, was more in line with what he wanted to say, anyway.

"Okay. I guess... I mean, I really like Chef Mori." Much of his discomfort left him. "She has this reservoir of calm, ya know? She _has_ to be nervous -- she's never done one of these shows before -- but she doesn't show it, and she is killing it out there. I'm just... in awe of her, I think."

Tendo nodded and gestured for him to continue. Dammit.

"Uh... Chef Jin. He's... decisive. Very confident with his ingredients. I haven't seen him second guess himself. And he's very focused."

Peeking around the little viewscreen, ol' Elvis Hair gave him a cheeky smirk. "And Chef Hansen?"

Fighting a rueful grin -- ah, the studio did love its drama -- he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Do you really have to ask?"

"Do you think he's really jealous of you and Chef Mori hitting it off so well?"

This guy was good. He'd have a long future in reality TV, stirring the imaginary pot like that.

Rolling his eyes, he let his head drop back until he stared at the ceiling. "I think the last thing I need to worry about is whether or not Chuck is still carrying the ol' torch for this worn-out has-been."

"Ouch, brother."

He huffed a chuckle and returned his focus to the camera. "You can say that again."

"So... who broke up with who?"

His eyes narrowed. "Really?"

A smirk. "I'm gonna ask him, too. Might as well get your story in first."

He hated that jowly British bastard. Why the hell was he doing this, again?

Oh. Right. Dee's Diner, the place Dominique LaPierre-Becket had loved most in the world.

Dammit.

"I have no doubt he'll disagree, but I guess you could say I broke up with him. It wasn't anything so dramatic, though. I just...." Might as well add a pinch of truth to spice up the all bullshit. "I haven't been in a good place these past years. We probably shouldn't have dated at all, but... you get lonely, ya know?" He shook his head. "But we weren't good for each other, so I just... stopped calling. He wasn't about to be ignored, so he refused to call and ask about it, and that was that. We just... stopped." He winced a bit. "It was for the best."

Tendo leaned out again and flashed him a quick okay sign and a wink. So, Raleigh did the thing again.

 _"Epic_ sex, though. Kid's got an ass that makes you want to learn the bongos."

Smirking, he stood up and walked out on a wave of Tendo's startled laughter. His work here was done.


	10. Chapter 10

He could do this. He was great at taking criticism. He'd always been his own worst critic, anyway.

This was nothing.

But it still sucked to stand in a line like a bunch of rookie cadets at boot camp and wait for the verdict. Plus commentary, of course.

Chef Gottlieb straightened, apparently the Speaker of the Panel. "Chef Jin, if you please."

Jin stepped forward, head high, that red shirt -- smooth silk and fashioned after the traditional Chinese chef's smock -- practically blazing under the glare of the lights.

"The individual components of your breakfast are delightful. Chef Sasha feared the ground pretzel would make your dough sticks too dense and dry, but we didn't find them so at all. The steamed buns were also surprisingly light and bursting with sweet flavor. I wasn't sure you could get the rice for your congee cooked enough in such a short time, but frankly, the consistency was perfect."

High praise, indeed. Jin stood a little taller.

"However, while the individual pieces are delightful, the whole is entirely too sweet. After the brandied soy milk and creamy sweet bun and the pear congee, all that sweetness was... cloying. I rather wish you'd added something savory. Perhaps a salted meat or something like."

That trim but tall frame stiffened. "Thank you for your suggestions, judges. I understand."

With a slight bow, he backed into line.

"Chef Mori?"

Cool and composed, she stepped forward to face the judgment.

"If I may admit a failing in my character, I have never liked natto." Gottlieb smiled stiffly. "I realize it's quite the staple food in Japan and, thus, shows up quite often in these competitions, but I can never quite get past the texture. So _slimy."_

She didn't so much as bat an eyelash. Raleigh wanted to step forward and put a hand on her shoulder.

"So imagine my surprise when I forced myself to take a bite of your natto kipper mixture with a fork-full of brandy-steamed rice and took back every bad thing I've ever said about the stuff."

He couldn't help it. He smiled. He didn't even try to hide it.

Pentecost would be so proud of her.

"Madam, you've done what only the best chefs can do. You've taken an unappealing ingredient and turned it into a delicacy. Congratulations, my dear. We have absolutely no complaints about your wonderful breakfast."

She lowered her head, but when she raised it again, she was smiling like a Madonna in a Renaissance painting. He could kiss her, and he wasn't even bisexual. He didn't think.

When she stepped back in line, he couldn't help but reach out and briefly squeeze her hand, then smile again when she squeezed right back.

"Chef Becket, please?"

_Here goes nothin'._

He stepped forward and gave the judges his full attention. If he advanced to the next round, he'd do well to keep their preferences in mind.

Thankfully, Chef Gottlieb smiled at him. "Chef Becket, your reputation definitely precedes you. You said you are a man of few words, but you are also a man of extraordinary talent."

He blinked, surprised by the effusive praise, especially from such a stodgy gent. Had he used too much brandy?

Gottlieb shook his head. "French toast, you said. Pear/cranberry compote, you said." A huff. "You neglected to mention the perfect balance of sweet and savory in your French toast from the sweetly pungeant air of the sage in the egg wash. You also forgot to point up the contrast between sweet and tangy in your compote and the crisp burst of fresh ginger spicing the lot."

Jesus. He was almost embarrassed by the commentary. He'd just done what he always did -- what sounded good at the time.

"You, son, have not lost a step. We have no complaints."

Unfortunately, Chau raised a hand and leaned forward. "Actually, I do have a complaint, kid."

Refusing to quail away from criticism, even after such glowing praise, he turned enough to face the goggled weirdo directly.

"I got your damn pretzel crumbs stuck in my grill."

His mouth twitched even as Gottlieb's eyes rolled and Chef Kaidanovsky snorted. "My apologies, sir. Next time, I'll ensure you have a water pick as well as a knife and fork."

Geiszler, who had been disturbingly quiet the whole time, snickered. And, unless he missed his guess, Raleigh thought he heard Yancy cough in the audience, but he didn't look to be sure.

Instead, he bowed with a crooked grin at Chau, nodded politely at the other judges, and stepped back into line. This time, it was Mako squeezing his hand first, and he returned the gentle grip with gratitude.

He was pretty sure he was safe. This round, anyway.

"Chef Hansen, if you'd be so kind?"

The jerk stepped forward, his hands lightly clasped behind his back, and stood at what Raleigh would swear was military parade rest to hear the verdict.

"Touching story about your mother aside, son, your crepes were indeed delightful. Light and delicate and so perfect with the brandy reduction. And the toffeed pretzel crumbles were divine."

Chef Kaidanovsky -- Chef Sasha, Gottlieb had called her -- broke in with a feral smile. "If you have any left over, I will fight you for them, Little Hansen."

Okay, if she was calling Chuck Hansen little, Raleigh guessed he didn't mind "Little Becket" so much. He was pretty sure the kid had a good twenty pounds of muscle and an inch or two around the chest on him.

Gottlieb nodded with full agreement. "I don't know how you managed to poach those pear slices without them falling apart in a gritty, mushy mess, but they held just enough of that lovely, rich brandy flavor to practically float off the plate. Masterful job, Chef Hansen. Our compliments."

Those broad shoulders rolled back. "Thanks for that, chaps. And mum."

With a nod of that mussed ginger head, the kid stepped back in line. Raleigh made no move to squeeze his hand. Thankfully, neither did Chuck.

Finally, Newt stepped forward and retook the floor by reaching for the covered dish on the stylized, over-sized cutting board at the end of the panel desk.

"Boys and girl... your dishes were all awesome, but only three of you can advance to the next level. The decision wasn't easy, but our distinguished judges have indeed made one. So...."

The moment drew out, and Raleigh narrowly refrained from rolling his eyes. Yet another dumb drama bait thing he hadn't missed.

Finally, their hyper host yanked away the cover.

Dough sticks and congee.

"Chef Jin, I'm afraid you've been... cut."

Jesus. Talk about your Chopped knock-off.

Jin took it like a pro, though. He nodded to the judges, shook each of the chef's hands in turn, then quietly headed for the Aisle of Shame. Raleigh hated that name, but that's what every contestant called it behind the scenes.

When the red shirt was completely out of sight, Newt turned to the remaining chefs and clapped his hands together. Again, Raleigh had to restrain his eyerolling impulse.

"So, on to lunch. You three won't make this easy on our judges, I'm sure. If you please?"

As one, the three remaining chefs turned to get back in the game.


	11. Chapter 11

Jin's counter space was quickly sectioned off and removed by an efficient stage crew to allow Mako easier access to go around the front of their counters if she wanted. Quiet and focused, all three chefs took their places. Yet another burlap sack lay like a bag of snakes in the middle of the butcher block.

God help him if they'd actually picked "snake" as an ingredient. He only knew one way to cook rattlesnake, and he doubted they'd let him build a bonfire on-set.

"Chefs, if you please."

He untied the stupid bag and carefully dumped. A block of light-colored cheese. Sausages of some sort. And... what the hell kind of pickled thing was that? A giant white carrot?

As if sensing that none of these particular ingredients were self-explanatory, Newt took his carny huckster pose again.

"A little information for the audience. That fine block of noble white is Halloumi cheese. Funny thing, though -- it doesn't melt. Cheese that doesn't melt. Good luck with that."

Raleigh rolled his eyes. As far as he knew -- and yes, he had heard of Halloumi; he just hadn't actually seen it personally -- this particular type of cheese probably would melt, but not at regular cooking temperatures. Its melting point was simply too high.

"Next is Carniolan sausage. This stuff is--"

"Oi, a Kransky." Damn. Chuck actually sounded excited. "You're finally speaking my language, mate. This stuff is a slice of fried gold."

Unimpressed, Geiszler glared at the interruption. "As I was saying, this stuff is a very popular Slovenian sausage. Its proportions are very strict, so you're looking at nothing but salt, garlic, pepper, and 80% pork and 20% bacon in those casings."

Chau grunted. "And a heart attack."

The audience chuckled. Newt rolled his eyes. Chuck looked tempted to hide a few sausages away to take home later.

"Anyway, the last jar is pickled daikon."

Jesus. He'd definitely heard of that. He'd also heard it tasted like sour milk and gym socks. Or, perhaps more flattering, cabbage and mustard.

Personally, he doubted either descriptor was one hundred percent accurate, but he did not look forward to taste-testing to see what the hell he should do with the oversized, floating root.

Unfortunately, the hipster host was still talking. "The flavor varies from country to country, but it's basically a really big radish that's been pickled. So that'll be fun."

Fun like a tax audit, maybe.

But a few ideas were forming, so he shoved away his misgivings about how the hell to pair a salty, feta-tasting cheese with something that might taste like cabbage and gym socks and focused. The sausage was practically a gift, so he'd build from that. It'd be difficult to screw up anything that included 20% bacon.

"And, your thirty minutes to create a sensational lunch incorporating all three ingredients begins... now!"

If he remembered right, Halloumi cheese really needed to be warmed to tone down that salty flavor. The usual recipes had it grilled, but grilling it alongside the sausages would be too obvious. Indeed, he saw Hansen firing up the big gas grill out of the corner of his eye, so he diverted over to the shelves instead. Some sort of pizza-type dish, perhaps, though he couldn't have time for bread dough. He needed French bread or something he could slice for crostini he could then top with a sausage/cheese fry-up. Something light, because no one wanted a big, heavy lunch.

As for the dreaded daikon, all he could think was maybe some sort of salad, perhaps with a sweet, creamy dressing to counter any brine or sour from the pickling. Maybe a slaw? He really should have tasted before hitting the shelves.

He didn't want to. Sue him.

"Get a move on, precious." Ugh. Where had Hansen come from? "The actual chefs are trying to cook."

Gritting his teeth, he moved to the side, though he wanted nothing more than to snark at the jerk. Unfortunately, his better nature reminded him that he _had_ just been standing there, taking up valuable real estate in front of the staples.

It occurred to him suddenly, as he slid a baguette down from an upper shelf, that Mako wasn't at the shelves. Even as he thought it, though, she joined them.

Her face was very pale.

He didn't have time for anything extra, but.... "Mako? Are you all right?"

She glanced up at him, flashing a brief and unconvincing smile. "Of course. Excuse me."

"Oi, if you two are done flirting, I need the goddamn bell peppers."

And just like that, Raleigh was suddenly done with the jerk. Yes, this was a competition, but there was no need to be an asshole just for the sake of being an asshole.

If nothing else, yelling at the prick would probably give Mako a chance to gracefully escape.

"Oh, I'm sorry, _babe._ I thought my social life wasn't any of your business anymore."

Those light eyes -- gray, he thought, though they probably tended to match whatever the jerk was wearing -- rolled. "Jesus, are you still on that?"

Raleigh was pretty sure Chuck meant that he should let the stupid "bitter exes" thing go, and any other time, he would absolutely agree. He hated pretenses, and he'd love to stick in the collective corporate craw by calling what they'd already done good and ignoring it for the rest of the show.

But now, he was pissed. The giant Australian asshole could come at him all he wanted, but he'd damn well better leave Mako out of it.

"Sounds to me like you're the one who's still hung up, Hansen."

Chuck paused and glared at him for a long moment neither of them could really afford. Raleigh could practically hear him ask the question. _Do you really wanna do this?_

No. But he by-God would anyway.

Another eyeroll. "Get over yourself, mate. That Kransky you're holding has a better chance of going up my ass than you ever do again."

Well. That escalated quickly. Even he couldn't miss the audience's collective, "Oooooohhhh!"

The kid was quick on his mental feet, though. He had to give him that.

But so was Raleigh. Smirking, he held the sausage up for a better view. It was about six inches long and an inch or so across, and he wanted to make sure every member of the audience was picturing it as a dick.

"What, this? You _know_ I can beat this."

To his surprise, instead of snarking back, the jerk just snickered, showing off those cheating dimples. He replayed what he'd said and... oh. Dammit.

His smirk turned into a sheepish grin. "Okay, that was an accident."

The tension vanished as the audience laughed and they both snickered and collected the rest of their ingredients. Mako was already chopping up a quiet storm at her station, so Raleigh let some of his concern fade into the background and reached back to turn on his oven before diving into all the chopping.

It turned out that pickled daikon wasn't nearly as bad as he'd feared. It was a strong taste, to be sure. Sour and radishy. But the texture was still crisp enough to make for a nice crunch, so he quickly julienned a section. Then, on a whim, he minced a bit more and dropped it into the stewing tomatoes he planned to crush down into a light sauce for the baguette pizza. It'd make for an interesting kick, anyway.

But even as he diced sausage and sliced thick slabs of Halloumi and julliened carrots and cucumber and scallions and chopped fresh herbs, he couldn't help but notice that Mako wasn't quite right. She was working, yes, but... mechanically. Her face was still pale. She seemed miles away.

Not something a chef on a cooking show could afford. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to bring her back. He had no idea what had thrown her off, so what could he say?

They weren't friends. They'd only met yesterday. He should probably be thrilled that she was so distracted, considering how well her breakfast had gone over.

But he wasn't. He didn't like seeing her upset, and he didn't care that they barely knew each other. There was a connection there, dammit.

Unfortunately, ten minutes were already gone, so he gathered up his cheese slabs and headed for the grill. Hansen was there, bustling about, but Raleigh ignored him and stuck to a smallish area, well out of the way. Frankly, this part of his plan was more about presentation than taste, anyway.

He wanted obvious grill marks on the cheese before he stuck it in the oven.

It was the principle of the thing.


	12. Chapter 12

"Jesus, this lettuce is for shit." The kid held up a narrow bundle of romaine that, yes, had seen better days. The limp leaves flapped sadly as he waved it. "Oi, Chau! This one of yours?"

The balls on this guy.

Then again, Raleigh was pretty sure the censor would have to cover over Chau's return gesture. The audience, apparently well beyond being shocked at this point, just snickered.

"Then again, it does rather remind me of something." Frowning, the kid dug out a fuller and much fresher bundle but continued wagging the sad, wilty one around. "Hm, what could it... oi! I know!" Smiling like Christmas, he flapped the mess in Raleigh's direction. "It reminds me of you, precious!"

Another chorus of "ooooohh!"s from the audience. He rolled his eyes.

Limp. Ha ha.

"Doesn't that say more about you than me, babe?"

This time, it was a collective, "Ouch!", and the kid-at-Christmas expression soured. So, he took it one step further.

"Huh. Where did I put that...." Hiding a smirk, he held up the admittedly large bundle of bok choy he'd selected to sliver for his slaw instead of regular cabbage. "Oh, here I am." He paused just long enough for the titters and giggles to fade out and to savor the scowl on the kid's face. "Oops. I mean, 'here it is'."

"Wanker."

But they went back to their separate tasks, and soon enough, Raleigh was just about ready to start thinking about plates. His pizza was crisping up nicely, the sausage -- yes, he'd snuck a taste and yes, he would be buying it in bulk when they reopened the restaurant -- sizzling and the weird, unmelting cheese browning around the edges. He'd even grated some of both the sausage and the cheese and fried it to crispy crumbles to drop over the top of his slaw, so he had all three ingredients in both components.

He was just cutting his lengthy baguette pizza into four equal parts to plate when he smelled it.

What no chef ever wanted to smell.

"Oi, is something burning?" To his credit, Chuck sounded alarmed instead of smug.

Mako let out a small sound and spun away from where she, too, had been plating, and Raleigh felt his heart leap into his throat. It wasn't just the knowledge that Mako -- a novice in competition, no matter how excellent a chef she was -- had just burned one of her components, which would dock her severely. It was... that smell.

Ash and smoke and burning meat. Charred flesh.

He couldn't breathe suddenly. His goddamn sweater was strangling him. He was sweating like a sinner in church. He had to--

Mako didn't cry or lose her composure in any way. She just removed the charred mess from the panini press -- some sort of sandwich, then -- and plated it with the others, eyes blank and face pale, despite the kitchen heat. They'd give it to one of the judges. They always used one of the pretty ones as the display model.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to... but he was hot and choking and that smell wasn't going away, and he felt the old scars ache and pull, and with a low cry, he shrugged out of the goddamn shrinking, clinging sweater and threw it on the floor. Bracing his hands on the edge of the counter, he tried to slow his breathing.

Of all the goddamn times to have a panic attack. He didn't have time for this. He had to--

"Raleigh."

Her voice was like a balm. She didn't touch him in any way, but when he managed to look at her, she managed a small, sad smile.

He nodded.

His hands shook, but he managed not to dump any toppings as he plated the goddamn stupid pizza. His vision was blurry, but he still aimed for an artful tumble of julienned bulk vegetables and shredded bok choy on the fresh spinach he'd layered in salad bowls. And he didn't overdress. Just a generous scoop for each, spiralled around to drip down into the slaw evenly. Crumbles on top.

Finally, still trying to slow his breathing, he reached over for the herbed baguette croutons he'd baked and, to his befuddled surprise, found Chuck Hansen staring at him like he'd never seen him before. For a long moment -- again, a moment none of them could truly afford in a timed contest -- he couldn't make out the expression on that usually arrogant, freckled face.

The scars? His undershirt was a wife-beater and barely covered his shoulders, leaving his arms completely bare. And burn scars were eye-catching in a cringeworthy sort of way. Of course the kid was staring. Who wouldn't?

But that look wasn't quite pity. It wasn't quite shock, either. And, surprisingly, it was neither anger nor vicious amusement at the has-been having a panic attack in the middle of a competition and practically stripping because of it.

He didn't know what to make of it. So, finally, he looked away and finished plating his food.

It was all he could do.


	13. Chapter 13

It was blissfully quiet and cool in the waiting room. Tendo stood in the corner, camera in hand, so they weren't exactly private, but for a moment, Raleigh felt like he could take a step back and get his head back on straight.

Maybe he could even help Mako. Not with her chances on the show, which didn't look good, but with whatever had her so distracted that she'd burned something, likely for the first time in her professional life.

Leaning his elbows on the high table, he debated faceplanting into his folded-up sweater and decided against it. "Do you need to talk about it?"

Her mouth quirked a bit, but he didn't mistake it for a smile. "You are very sweet, Raleigh, but...."

Her eyes cut toward Tendo in the corner.

He understood. He really did. He hated the idea of his own personal tragedy being spun for higher ratings, too. So, he wouldn't push.

After a long, quiet moment during which they tried to ignore both the strangely subdued Australian gorilla in one corner and the accidentally intrusive cameraman/producer in the other, she sighed.

"As soon as I saw the daikon, I knew what I would make." Her voice was low enough that it should record as indistinct murmuring, so long as Tendo stayed in the corner. Which he did. "My mother... she made the most wonderful spring rolls with shaved slices of pickled daikon as wrappers."

Ah. It was genius, actually. Deep-frying would crisp up the pickled texture, and it would add another layer of flavor to an already delectable food.

"I don't think of her as often as I should. Not since I was small. She... was with my father in Tokyo for one of his cancer treatments. The parking garage collapsed. They don't even know why."

He nodded. He didn't have to tell her he was sorry. She knew.

"Sensei has been so wonderful. He has done his best for me. I have such a good life with him."

Smiling just as sadly as she had, he nodded. "But he's not her. He's not them."

Her eyes closed. "While I was wrapping them, I could almost smell her perfume. I don't remember the name, but I closed my eyes and could almost feel her behind me, showing me how to fold the edges over, kissing my cheek when they turned out right."

Since there was nothing he could say that wouldn't sound like a platitude, he did what he could -- stood shoulder to shoulder with her until their names were called.

The door opened soon enough. "Chef Mori?"

God, he did not want to be left alone in a room with Chuck Hansen. Even with Tendo in the corner, they might as well be alone. He didn't know how he'd react if the Aussie decided to be a jerk right now.

Thankfully, before the quiet became too oppressive, the monitor flicked on to show Mako making her way across to stand before the panel. She looked pale but composed, and Raleigh felt a surge of pride for her. She was remarkable in every way. So strong.

"Chef Mori."

Newt had rolled up his sleeves at some point, and Raleigh was unsurprised to see ink all up and down both arms. He couldn't make out more than blots of color on the monitor, but it didn't matter.

"Could you tell us what you've made?"

She bowed her head politely. "First are glass noodle and fresh basil spring rolls wrapped with shaved daikon and paired with a gazpacho of daikon, tomato, cucumber, sweet bell peppers, and avocado, topped with crumbled, sauteed Halloumi. Also, I have created an open-face sourdough panini with Carniolan sausage and Halloumi slices, grilled and topped with lettuce and tomato."

Despite his lingering dismay and disorder, he couldn't help but grin. She'd basically made a fancy BLT with cheese. He hoped the judges caught that.

But she was already bowing and backing away, so he finally risked a short glance to see if Chuck was plotting anything or sneaking up on him. Oddly, when he turned, the kid abruptly jerked his gaze away, then crossed his arms and glared at the floor.

Still staring at the scars, then? He knew they were bad, but surely not bad enough to hold attention for quite this long. Maybe he'd just never seen burn scars before.

Frowning, he debated putting his sweater back on, then decided against it. He wasn't ashamed of them. And they didn't hurt him nearly as much as Yancy's did.

The Australian asshole could stare all he wanted. Fuck him.

When Mako returned, she looked almost serene. She had apparently made her peace with whatever would happen. Raleigh envied that, honestly. He hadn't made peace with much of anything in his life.

But she was back together enough that, when she came to stand beside him, she nudged her shoulder against him. "Are you feeling better?"

His eyebrows rose. "Me?"

She eyed him dubiously, and he cleared his throat. Right. Panic attack.

He really didn't want to talk about it. But she'd told him hers.

"It was the smell."

Her smile vanished.

"The fire was out of control before we could get out." His skin broke out in goosebumps, and he stared longingly at his sweater, folded neatly between his forearms. "The building was coming down, and Yancy threw himself on me, trying to protect me. He... his shirt caught fire... his back...."

Her dark eyes alive with sympathy, she reached out and gently laid a cool hand on his. He hadn't realized he'd clenched both hands into fists, but he quickly loosened them and laid both palms flat the table. No sense working himself back up. He'd be called in any moment.

He didn't remember much after that. But oh, he remembered that smell. Sweet, barbecued pork, cloying and overlaid with the acrid, chemical stink of burning cloth and plastic and God knew what else.

But he didn't want to think about that anymore, so he shook it off and forced a small grin for her. She returned it, but it was just as poor an effort as his.

The door opened. "Chef Becket?"

He sighed. "My turn in the barrel."

All she could do was nod, so he slipped his hand out from under hers, gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and went to face the firing squad.

The judges didn't look pitying, thank God, or he might have gotten pissed. They simply waited politely for him to say his piece. Even Newt cut him a break by simply gesturing for him to do his thing.

Were those dinosaurs on his arms? Dragons, maybe? He wouldn't put it past the goofy hipster to tattoo anime creatures all over himself.

Not important.

"Lady and gentlemen." He ducked his head in a quick bow, forcing his attention where it was needed. He didn't dare seek out Yancy's face. He didn't want to see what memories might be on it. "I've made for you a bok choy and pickled daikon coleslaw on a bed of spinach and a Carniolan sausage and Halloumi pizza on baguette."

Chef Sasha smiled, and, for the first time, it didn't look like a bite in the making. "Man of few words."

His mouth twitched. "I put some carrots in the slaw. And I used fresh herbs in the pizza sauce."

She chuckled, low and rich, and even Chau gave a snort. Chef Gottlieb shook his head, but he didn't look annoyed.

In all, he counted it a successful reveal and got out while the gettin' was good. One reveal left to go, and then the damn interviews again.

Oh, joy. He could hardly wait.


	14. Chapter 14

Chuck Hansen was back to his usual cocky self the second he stepped in front of the judges. Raleigh shook his head. Who knew a few burn scars could so throw someone?

"Right. What you got there is a kebab with brown sugar-crusted Kransky chunks, bell peppers, slivered daikon, onions, pineapple, and panko-ed Halloumi cubes. Off to the side is a romaine wedge salad with sauteed, diced Kransky seasoned with fennel pollen, a crumbled Halloumi/bleu cheese mix, and a creamy rosewater daikon dressing."

Jesus. Would that even work? Surely, the daikon would overpower the rosewater and erase the aromatic effect.

And seriously. The kid went right for the Culinary Fairy Dust. Chef Batali would be so proud.

He shook his head, again reminded that, for all his arrogance, Chuck Hansen had the balls to back it up. He could almost be impressed if he hadn't been subjected to the sneering disdain it produced from literally the first moment they met.

"Raleigh?"

Shaking off his distraction, he smiled at Mako's hesitant tone. Relieved, she smiled back.

"Would it be all right if I asked to stay in touch after this?"

He brightened. So she'd felt the connection, too.

"Are you kidding? Absolutely."

They were still inputting numbers in their cell phones by their personal lockers when Chuck strolled back into the room and immediately scowled. Whatever. Raleigh had already made two "what, you jealous, bro?" jokes. Enough was enough.

Besides, it wasn't like he was interested in Mako like that, and he was pretty sure she wasn't interested in him that way, either. They just... connected.

And he was pretty sure he was just gay, not bi, despite having been with plenty of girls in his youth.

Not that any of that mattered, because Chuck _wasn't his goddamn ex,_ though it was harder and harder to remember that, considering it was pretty much the entirety of their interaction at this point. Jesus.

So he ignored the kid long enough to escape into the even smaller interview room.

The one-on-one felt almost rote, which spoke highly for Tendo's people skills. He asked once, very quietly, if Raleigh wanted to talk about what happened at the end, there, but when he declined, he let it go without so much as a quibble.

He was really starting to like ol' Elvis Hair.

And then, it was time to face the firing squad again. He found himself dreading it. Not for himself but for Mako, who had done such an amazing job that would be undone by a moment's distraction. He just... he hoped they would be kind.

Newt gestured theatrically. "Judges, if you please."

Chef Gottlieb was again the spokesman for the group. Raleigh abruptly wondered if it was because the studio thought the cultured British accent carried more weight than Chau's laid-back Brooklyn drawl or Chef Sasha's obvious English-as-a-second-language phrasing, despite her excellent grasp of the language. He wouldn't be at all surprised, though it was rude as hell.

"You three have made this quite a difficult decision." Either Gottlieb had mellowed quite a bit since the introductory scene, or he just didn't like Geiszler's hipshot, casual attitude, but the stodgy gent actually smiled benignly at them each in turn. "I must remind myself that not a one of you has yet to see your thirties, and two of you are barely over twenty."

Huh. He'd guessed that Mako couldn't be more than twenty-one or twenty-two, but he'd thought Chuck a few years older. If they were ever on anything like speaking terms, he'd have to remember to ask.

"Chef Mori, your spring rolls are a miracle. The daikon barely tastes pickled at all, and every bite is a crisp burst of flavor and texture. The fresh sweet basil... perfect." The smile warmed further. "Pairing them with a gazpacho as cool and light and flavorful as this? Inspired. The sharpness of the daikon pairs so well with the creaminess of the avocado. "

Chau grinned, his grill glinting. "Frankly, I wanted to lick the bowl."

Chef Sasha shot him an unimpressed look. "You did."

The audience tittered, but Chau just shrugged. Raleigh guessed it'd take a lot more than that to shame someone like Hannibal Chau.

Unfortunately, Chef Gottlieb's enthusiasm dimmed considerably. "As for the panini, well, I'm afraid I'll have to defer to my colleagues on that. Mine was... a bit overdone."

If anyone else had said it, it would've been a cruel joke. Raleigh was glad, then, that Mako took it as Chef Gottlieb obviously meant it -- the most delicate possible way to say "burnt beyond salvage".

It also helped that Chau sat forward and seemed to eye her intently through his goggles. "Chef Mori, if anyone else had come on this show and served me a BLT with cheese, I'd have laughed them right out the door."

Raleigh ducked his head to hide a grin. Of course they'd caught it. He shouldn't have doubted.

"But, little lady, you have a long, bright future ahead of you, because that wasn't a BLT. It was ambrosia."

"Indeed, Little Mori." Chef Sasha nodded intently. Almost fiercely. "Only the Halloumi did not melt in my mouth."

Surprisingly, Mako managed a small chuckle at that and nodded gratefully. Chef Sasha nodded back, smiling as softly as someone so fierce could manage.

In a regretful voice, Gottlieb retook the floor. "I truly wish we could overlook the... unfortunate incident, my dear, but we do have to weigh that in our decision."

She swallowed hard and nodded. "I understand, Chef Gottlieb. I was inattentive. It is my responsibility."

Gritting his jaw, Raleigh reached over just enough to touch her hand. She took it in hers, squeezed briefly, then let go. It was enough.

"Now, Chef Becket." Gottlieb turned that warmer-than-before look on him. "Once again, you managed to fool us into thinking your dish was simple just because you said it was. 'Bok choy and pickled daikon coleslaw' does not tell us to expect a burst of coriander and mustard seed in the creamy dressing. It would have almost been too potent when combined with the daikon if not for those delectible, crispy sausage and cheese bits."

Chau leaned back in his chair and actually mmm-ed as if he was reliving the experience.

"Any cook can throw together a handful of ingredients and make a passable meal, whether or not it holds together as a harmonious ensemble. But only an excellent chef can combine such bold flavors in such a way that what would be off-putting in a different proportion instead becomes... a harmony. A symphony of flavors."

He blinked. He was not expecting any of that. To his further... embarrassment?... Chau, who was still lounging back in his chair, patted his stomach and grinned.

"The pizza was pretty good, too."

The audience chuckled. Raleigh just... blinked some more.

"Pretty good, bosh." Gottlieb shook his head. "Like Chef Mori's surprising gazpacho, your sauce was a delight. So light and flavorful. Crushing the tomatoes instead of pureeing them? Adding daikon and honey instead of vinegar and sugar? The fresh oregano, basil and cilantro? Son, if the sausage and cheese hadn't been so perfectly sauteed and spiced with that subtle hint of ghost pepper, I'd have scraped them off and just eaten the bread and sauce alone."

"Brilliant choice, Little Becket, giving us heat in pizza to trade off with creamy slaw." Chef Sasha gestured evocatively. "The spice is not too much, yes, because a bite of cool and creamy brings it back down without losing... fullness." Another gesture. "No... richness? Is the word I want, yes?"

"Agreed, Chef Sasha." Gottlieb nodded vigorously. "You, Chef Becket, are unpredictable in your combinations, but you are also a master of balance. If I didn't before, I now understand completely how you were able to defeat four Iron Chefs by the age of twenty-one." This nod was less forceful but no less encouraging. "Well done, young man."

It was a good thing Mako reached over to squeeze his hand, or he'd have stood there gaping like an idiot for the rest of the show. It was such fulsome praise. He'd forgotten that part of these shows, too aware of all the things he'd dreaded about them to remember why he'd done so many in the first place.

Just... it had been a long time since anyone but Yancy had said nice things about him.

So, he managed a bow from the waist, then straightened, trying to shake off his fluster. "I... thank you. So much. For all of that." Feeling like an idiot, but also feeling pretty damn good, he managed a crooked grin. "I'll try to be more descriptive next time."

Chuckles from the audience. Chuckles from the judges. And Mako squeezed his hand.

Would wonders never cease?

"And finally... Chef Hansen, if you please?"

Well. It was nice while it lasted.


	15. Chapter 15

Raleigh decided that, for all that Chuck Hansen was an arrogant, hotheaded jerk, he was at least a no-frills arrogant, hotheaded jerk. He didn't preen in front of the judges or put on any airs for them. The kid just stepped forward and waited for the verdict.

Gottlieb didn't bother building suspense. "Chef Hansen, you are a master of contradictions. When I realized you put the shaved daikon right next to the onion wedges in your kebabs, I worried the flavor combination would be... well, frankly, repulsive. But you put that potential disaster right next to your brown-sugared sausage chunks, and that savory sweet turned the sour/aromatic combination into something quite different and delightful."

Chuck nodded, unfazed. Raleigh had no doubt he'd known exactly what he was doing.

"I found myself trying a bite of this with a bite of that instead of just eating down the line, fascinated by how each element changed my experience of an otherwise simple presentation. A bite of the crispy-coated Halloumi with the sweet-crusted sausage softened the saltiness of the cheese until it felt like it truly was melting in my mouth."

Okay, that was a pretty good line. Almost everyone had gotten in a good crack at the unmelting cheese, at this point.

"The grilled bell peppers, the pineapple... each one subtly changed how the sausage or cheese or daikon tasted, making your kebabs... something of an adventure. So well done, young man." Gottlieb turned to get a nod from the other judges, then continued. "And I have no other word for your salad combination but 'divine'. If you didn't use witchcraft to create that dressing, Chef Hansen, I have no explanation for it."

The audience chuckled, and Chuck permitted himself a smirk. Raleigh didn't begrudge him that, though. Pickled daikon and rosewater, for God's sake. Who would even think those two would work together?

Of course, Gottlieb wasn't finished. "Fennel pollen isn't as perfect a seasoning as its 'fairy dust' nickname would have you believe, but in the hand of a master, it does indeed seem to work magic, and it has done so here. This specific sausage is wonderful on its own, so it was brave to enhance it further, but it worked out so well here. So rich and savory, which paired so well with the creamy, aromatic tang of the rosewater dressing."

Chau made another yummy noise, and the audience snickered.

"And the bleu cheese blended down the saltiness of the Halloumi until it all just... blended. I have no other word, son. Like Chef Becket, you somehow manage to combine all these bold flavors that might otherwise be overwhelming and turn them instead into a fascinating harmony. So very well done. All of you."

"Thanks for that, mate." With a respectful nod, Chuck stepped back into line. "But I won't be admitting to witchcraft on telly, yeah?"

Chuckles all around. Even Raleigh caught himself grinning wryly, though he knew well enough what was coming. The kid was entertaining, for all that he was a prick.

Unfortunately, there was Newt, stepping up to the covered dish at the end of the panel and gesturing for attention.

"Chefs, you really have made this a tough decision, but only two of you can proceed to the next round. This may be the first episode, but I think this has already been the best competition any of us have seen. You're all world-class chefs, okay?"

That was surprisingly high praise, coming from the little hipster.

"So...."

Aaaannnnd there went any good feelings. Nice or not, Newt was still going to by-God milk the drama by drawing it out as long as possible.

Finally, he yanked back the cover. Mako's lovely spring rolls and gazpacho and fancy BLT.

"Chef Mori, I'm sorry, but you've been... cut."

She nodded. Of course she did. Shoulders square and eyes up, she thanked the judges and started toward the Aisle of Shame.

He couldn't just let her walk away. He wasn't as strong as she was.

"Mako!"

She paused, lowered her head, then turned around. Now that she'd stopped, he had no idea what to say. Luckily, she was amazing and seemed to understand, so she smiled softly and turned away again.

Just like that, she was gone.

The audience murmured, but Raleigh blocked them out. He had her number. They'd stay in touch. It wasn't the end.

And he still had work to do.

Newt clapped his hands again -- such a goddamn carny -- and turned to the camera. "Only two chefs left, folks, and they are the cream of a very elite crop. Let's see whose dinner reigns supreme. Chef Becket? Chef Hansen? If you please."

Chuck, who looked oddly irritated for having just received such effusive praise, shouldered past him toward the kitchen setup. The crew hadn't removed Mako's counter section yet, so Raleigh ended up following the kid instead of walking beside him.

The sudden sputter of sparks from the stove section caught him completely offguard, and instead of ducking, he froze entirely.

Yancy. Where was Yancy?

The wall behind Mako's range sputtered and caught fire, and as he finally flinched and jerked away, the rack of lights overhead all burst in a shower of sparks.

Raleigh didn't hear the audience's shouts and screams. He didn't hear Chau curse or Newt squeak like a little girl. He only knew one thing.

Yancy was too far away to get to.

Adrenaline surged through him, and with a despairing bellow of "Yance, get out!", he ran forward and tackled the only person close enough to save, covering Chuck's head and ducking his own under his arm. The shower of sparks lit on his bare arms, hot little bites on his exposed flesh, but he stayed put, blanketing the big body under his own.

He didn't care about more scars. He cared about the thickening smell of acrid smoke as God only knew what burned merry hell around him. _Again._

God, he hoped Yancy got out. And Mako. And Tendo.

"It's okay! Everyone calm down! It's just a short!"

Chuck grunted and squirmed, then actively threw Raleigh off him and into Mako's counter section. "Get the fuck off me, ya wanker! The fuck is wrong with you?"

Dazed and still terrified under all the confusion, he was briefly glad the show wasn't live. A censor would get arthritis trying to bleep this shit in real time.

"It's just a short in the system." That was Tendo's voice, low and soothing, and Raleigh managed to look up at him and realize that crew members already had fire extinguishers out and in use. The studio wasn't quite pitch black, but only emergency lights cut the smoky gloom. "Raleigh, are you with me? It's okay. The panini press was left on and overheated. The failsafe failed and the cord shorted out. The power surge popped the bulbs and flipped the breakers, but everything's all right now. Okay?"

Some of the panic faded, and he reached out for the hand Tendo offered him. "Yancy? Did he get out?"

Tendo started to answer, but the best voice in the world cut right through it.

"Raleigh, I'm fine. I'm not going anywhere. We're all safe."

Scrambling to his feet, he had one blissful moment of relief at the sight of his brother's smiling, undamaged face before a hard shove from behind nearly sent him face-first into the broken glass on the floor from the burst studio lights above.

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

Still reeling from literally everything since that first smell of Mako's sandwich burning God knew how long ago, Raleigh turned almost drunkenly to see Chuck, heaving and furious and oddly pale, glaring at him with his fists clenched.

Tendo, again, reacted quickly and stepped between them. "Okay, let's all just take a moment. We've gotta clean this up, so there'll be a break in the action. Why don't you two go back to the wait room and get away from the stink for a while?"

The last thing in the world Raleigh wanted right now was to be alone with a weirdly furious Chuck Hansen, but since he highly doubted the studio would allow him to sequester himself with his brother and have a good cry, he just clenched his jaw and walked away. He didn't care if Chuck followed. He needed to get away from the smell.

Unfortunately, less than halfway down the hall, the Australian asshole opened his goddamn mouth.

"Seriously, Ray, were you trying to off me, or what? You that sure you're gonna lose that you gotta burn down the studio to stop me?"

His teeth gritted together, but he just kept walking.

"You really are a useless wanker. Your goddamn rookie girlfriend leaves on her goddamn appliances, and _your_ has-been ass tries to bash my brains out on the floor."

That did it.

He stopped, took a deep breath, and turned around. Hansen was still huffing and furious, but Raleigh didn't care an iota.

"I guess it didn't occur to you that I just relived maybe the worst moment of my life."

"Guys." He hadn't even realized Tendo was still with them. "Everyone's a little shaken up, but let's not--"

"You don't get to play the pity card with me, precious. You--" The prick actually stepped forward and flicked him on the chest. "--fucking tackled me. If you can't handle a bit of surprise in the kitchen, you don't fucking belong in one. And neither does your girlfriend."

He wasn't even aware he'd thrown a punch until Chuck launched back at him and damn near spun his head around on his shoulders. After that, they were in it. He didn't care about the show. He didn't even care about what losing the prize money would do to his and Yancy's hopes of reopening their mother's restaurant.

He just wanted to feed Chuck Hansen his fancy fucking lunch.

Of course, he wasn't at all surprised when the Australian asshole turned out to be a brawler. The kid wasn't as quick as Raleigh, but his shots to the ribs and gut would hurt for weeks. He needed to stay in close and grapple without giving the bastard a chance to really reach back and wale on him.

But he couldn't resist the urge to punch that goddamn arrogant face every chance he got. Before he knew it, they were both bleeding, and Tendo was somehow right between them, shoving them apart until Chuck damn near fell into a wall and Raleigh was within an ace of falling on his ass.

"Jesus, you two! Hansen, what the hell are you thinking? He just tried to save your life, and you start a fight with him?"

Bleeding from the nose and cheek, the little prick started forward again. Raleigh rolled his shoulders, more than ready to punch the kid some more, but Tendo again came between them.

"This is over. One more punch and you're off the show."

Clenching his teeth, the kid spun and stomped back up the hallway they'd just trooped down, and Raleigh was suddenly exhausted. This had been the day from hell. Frankly, he wasn't sure how much more he could take.

"You okay, Raleigh?"

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he was a country mile away from a smile. "No."

"Right." Huffing something too shaky to be a laugh, poor Elvis Hair gestured toward the waiting room. "Go on and catch your breath, brother. You've earned it. And there's a first aid kit under the sink." He gestured vaguely. "You have a little...."

Blood? Yeah. He felt the sting of open flesh and guessed he probably did need a little medical attention. His lip was split, for sure. His right cheekbone from a surprise left.

So, despite the fact that he just wanted to crawl into his bed at the hotel and sleep for a year, he nodded and let himself into the stupid waiting room, waving Tendo off now that he was fairly certain he wouldn't be stuck alone with Chuck. The poor guy was the producer, after all. He probably had a million things to oversee at the moment, what with a section of the set catching fire and exploding.

Jesus. Did any of that really happen?

First aid kit in hand, Raleigh suddenly sat down, right there on the floor. He didn't have the capacity to make it to a chair. He just... needed to rest. Just for a second.

God help him.


	16. Chapter 16

He didn't look up from the med kit he was carefully repacking when the door opened. He did not want to deal with Chuck Hansen any more today and could only hope the hallway fight would lead to something of a cold war in which the bullshit exes just never spoke again.

"Rals?"

The kit fell from his hands, and he was across the room and hugging his brother tight before he could even think of the motion. God, if he'd ever needed anything in his life, it was the broad, stocky bulk of his brother, safe and not burning to death and not judging him for overreacting to a little spark shower.

"I know, kid. I know."

Closing his eyes, he buried his face in Yancy's neck and squeezed even tighter. "How...?"

"I asked the guy with the pompadour where the bathroom was, and he winked and pointed me to the door at the end of the hall."

Tendo. God love him.

He huffed. "Did you really need to go to the bathroom?"

"Nope. Needed to check on my little brother." If they squeezed each other any harder, they'd pass out from lack of oxygen. "I was gonna sneak around until I found you."

After a long, soothing, calming moment, they finally drew apart. They didn't bother looking sheepish at how much they'd needed that moment to assure each other they were okay. They'd been through too much for that.

"So... what happened to your face?"

He rolled his eyes and bent to pick up the scattered kit. "My bullshit ex thought it'd be a good idea to give me shit for freaking out and tackling him. He also thought it'd be fun to call Mako my girlfriend and insult her for forgetting to turn off her equipment."

"Ah."

But the tone wasn't quite right, so Raleigh looked up at his could-totally-be-a-dick brother and narrowed his eyes.

"You do realize he was about to shit himself when he climbed out from under you, right?"

Rolling his eyes again, he scooped up the last of the mess and laid it all on the table to sort it out and put it back right. "Sure he was. Chuck Hansen, kitchen maestro, shaking in his metal-shinned boots over a little spark and flash? Of course."

Yancy raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You were too busy having a PTSD flashback and worrying about me to notice, but your boy was white as a ghost, and I'm pretty sure the only reason he clenched his fists was to stop his hands from shaking." He shook his head. "I have no doubt whatever you two got into after you walked out was him letting off steam because you scared the shit out of him."

Sighing, he tucked the roll of nursing tape back in its place and closed the kit. "Whatever. He's a prick. Kinda funny -- in a dick sort of way -- when he wants to be, but a complete asshole any other time."

"Mm-hm." But while Yancy could be a jerk, he was also the best brother in the world. "I'm pretty sure he's just terrible at flirting, but whatever. I gotta get back out there before Elvis gets in trouble for letting me back here. I just... needed to check."

Smiling a bit, he nodded and went in for another hug. He needed it. Luckily, Yancy obliged, and for a moment, everything was okay.

Raleigh held onto the feeling for as long as he could.


	17. Chapter 17

"Now that that's all cleaned up, we're... what the heck happened to you two?"

Of course their hipster chihuahua of a host had taken this long to notice the splits and bruising. He and Chuck had been standing at their counters for the past ten minutes, at least.

Without looking at the Australian asshole to his left, he shrugged. "Lover's spat?"

Chuck huffed.

Newt blinked. "Huh. Okay, then. Let's... get on with the show. Chefs, if you please?"

Another burlap sack. In no mood to dither, he carefully dumped the ingredients. Something felt... heavy. Much heavier than the breakfast or lunch ingredients.

He understood when a plucked, headless, disemboweled duck -- thankfully wrapped up in plastic -- rolled out onto the counter, along with a net bag of... were those tomatoes? No. Too light in color and the leaf cap wasn't quite right.

Maybe... persimmons? Damn. He wasn't terribly familiar with them, but he vaguely remembered them having to be almost too ripe to hold together before they tasted good.

Black trumpet mushrooms, though. Better. Like the Carniolan sausage, the mushrooms were practically a gift.

He could do this. The persimmons felt pretty firm, so they could probably hold their texture enough for a chutney, he hoped. A little spice should hide the flavor if they were bland or chalky.

First things first, though. He needed to break the duck down into useable parts, then load up on ingredients.

"For those at home, we have duck -- no, that's not a really narrow turkey -- Fuyu persimmons, which are sweeter much earlier than the Hachiya variety, and frankly gorgeous black trumpet mushrooms." Newt, hyper as always now that he was back in the swing of things, crossed his tattooed arms. "Seriously. I love black trumpet mushrooms. I'm so jealous right now."

"Newton." Chef Gottlieb rolled his eyes. "Really."

"Sorry." Of course, Geiszler didn't sound the least bit sorry. "Chef Becket, Chef Hansen, you have an hour to create a cohesive dinner incorporating all three ingredients. Good luck."

The Australian asshole headed for the shelves, but Raleigh stayed put and slit the plastic on the duck. An hour wasn't enough time to roast the whole thing. Maybe just the breasts? They obviously wouldn't restrict the chefs to just the one duck, so he could carve off four total. And the drumsticks. He could boil the rest to make a thick, rich broth. Black trumpets did very well in stews and soups.

Screw that. Black trumpets did very well in just about anything.

Persimmons, though. He sliced into one to get a feel for the taste and texture. Surprisingly sweet, but not cloying. Firm but not unyielding. He could definitely work with it. He doubted they'd do well in a stew, but he'd think of something.

Hansen was already back at his counter, sorting out his haul, so Raleigh slid wordlessly by him and started selecting. Sage, which was always his mother's favorite spice. Butter and heavy cream and mascarpone. And... no way.

Duck bacon. Either someone thought it was funny, or even the show creators acknowledged that an hour was barely enough time to do anything too fancy with such a dense, fatty poultry.

Grinning a bit, he tucked it in with the rest and added cayenne, garlic, and various stew vegetables.

And promptly almost dropped the whole load when a large, warm, very solid body pressed up against his back, a brawny arm reaching past to pull down a container of flour.

"Sorry, mate."

Chuck. Fucking. Hansen. Was the asshole fighting dirty now? Because he wasn't moving back, like Raleigh had earlier. And he was... distracting.

This seemed like an unfortunate time to remember that he was only recently comfortable with the idea of being gay.

A strong hand touched his hip as the jerk seemed to consider whether or not he really wanted the flour he'd chosen. What the fuck was so complicated about fucking all-purpose flour?

"Did you really think you were saving my life?"

It was a low whisper, not meant to be heard by the mics hanging everywhere. It was also damn near right in his ear, and... dammit. He was _not_ attracted to Chuck Fucking Hansen, the giant Australian asshole who had just started a literal fight an hour ago and had been a jerk at first sight.

And they didn't have time for this, even if he was. Which he wasn't.

But damn if the jerk wasn't broad and solid and didn't smell anywhere near as sweaty and covered with food stink as he should, considering they'd both been in kitchen heat all day. The kid must have cleaned up a bit during the break, like Raleigh had.

Irritated at the sudden mental image of this big bastard taking off his shirt and soaping up, he shrugged out from the weirdly intimate position Hansen had pinned him into and glared at the prick. "Don't flatter yourself. You were the closest person."

He fully intended to walk away, but he made the mistake of catching the kid's eye. Sure, it was ringed by a bit of bruising, and the little strips of tape over the splits on his nose and cheek were ridiculous, but there was nothing angry or snarky or even teasing in that intent look. Chuck looked... sincere.

His irritation sputtered, but it didn't matter. He really didn't have time for any of this.

Thus, he restrained himself to a short nod to counter his frown and headed back to his counter, determined to put it out of mind. He could think about whether or not Chuck Hansen was anything more than an arrogant, hotheaded asshole after the show was over.

Hell, by that point, the kid probably wouldn't want anything else to do with him, anyway, and it wouldn't even matter.

Shaking it all off, he focused on his strategy. Quartered onions, celery tops, a chunk of ginger root, a splash of apple cider vinegar, a halved lemon, garlic cloves, and kosher salt went into a stock pot with the duck carcass on the back of the stove. The breasts went skin-side down in garlic butter in a skillet. The drumsticks, minus the skin and layer of fat, went in another skillet of cayenne-spiced oil to sear with some dill.

He lost himself for a while in the chopping of fruits and vegetables. Even with the clock ticking away in the back of his mind, he let himself just... enjoy it. He'd always loved the parts of cooking that most people only tolerated. He loved the preparation, the breaking down of elements. Pairing purple potatoes and bright orange sweet potatoes for the black trumpet stew. Slipping both sage and cayenne into the saucepan along with Granny Smith apples and dates for the persimmon chutney.

"Oi, mind if I use your cleaver? Can't seem to find mine."

Suspicious and a little annoyed to be pulled from such pleasant thoughts, he debated a moment before wiping the blade down and handing it over, handle first. "Planning to castrate me for tackling you?"

To his surprise, the kid flashed dimple at him. Apparently, on purpose. "I'd need a bigger knife, then, wouldn't I?"

His eyes narrowed. What the hell was this now? They were supposed to be bitter exes.

That... was perilously close to... flirting.

Still suspicious, he huffed. "Well, you'd know."

The only response was a waggle of ginger eyebrows and a flourishing twirl of the cleaver before the kid buried it in the duck carcass. That last part wasn't quite as flirty as it was probably intended.

So, Raleigh managed a snort and went back to where he was caramelizing little bits of persimmon with minced ginger and chopped duck bacon. On the whole, it really didn't matter if Hansen had decided to not be a complete dick anymore.

They both had work to do.


	18. Chapter 18

"Remember that time you spilled ganache all over your hand and I spent a good twenty minutes licking it off?"

Okay, surprising a man who was trying to butterfly seared duck breasts was cheating. And a good way to damn near fillet a hand.

Incredulous, he whipped the sinfully sharp knife away from his vulnerable flesh and stared at the big jerk. "What?"

A slow smirk. "Took my time sucking on each finger to get it all. I do love my chocolate, precious."

The image -- and the ball of heat in his gut from the split second he allowed himself to imagine how it would feel -- made him inhale sharply, but he hid it as best he could. What the fuck was the kid up to now?

Right. Show drama. Lovely timing for it, though.

Huffing and shaking off the weirdly evocative fake memory, he firmed his grip on his knife. "I don't think this is the best time for a walk down Memory Lane, _babe."_

The expected snort was strangely soft as the kid turned to sautée God knew what at the range. "You never did like it when I got all romantic."

What the fuck? The jerk had only barely played along with all of Raleigh's snarky ex-boyfriend bullshit earlier, but now he wanted to revisit misty watercolor _completely fake_ memories?

"Right. Because _you_ were the romantic." Fuck it. If Chuck wanted to play, Raleigh could damn well up the ante. "It wasn't me brushing off the gesture when I got us into Nobu while we were in Vegas. Who was it that spent all night at the blackjack tables and still wanted to get laid when you dragged in at, like, 3 AM?"

That had been his third girlfriend, just after his second Iron Chef win. He could almost hope she'd watch the show and get pissed at him, except he knew he hadn't treated her right, either. He'd tried really hard to be straight for a lot longer than he probably should have.

Chuck, oddly, just rolled with it, though he did spare Raleigh a strange look as he did so. "I was on a hot streak. And I used my winnings to get us into Cirque du Soleil the next night."

He rolled his eyes and stuffed the butterflied breasts with the caramelized persimmon/black trumpet/duck bacon/mascarpone mixture he'd prepared. "The show _you_ wanted to see, may I remind you."

"It was romantic as fuck!"

"Says the guy who missed out on a private table at Nobu."

Arguing, he could do. The weird remembering of fake better times... not so much. Was the kid trying to fake a reconciliation?

Fuck that. He hadn't even dated the asshole and he wanted to dump his annoying, arrogant ass.

Not that it wasn't a very nice ass, all things considered. He'd only been pressed against it for a moment, and even that by accident, but still.

Very. Nice. Ass.

What the hell was he thinking? He didn't have time for this. And whatever Chuck Asshole Hansen was up to was none of his business.

So he slid the stuffed breasts into the oven, admiring the color of the sear and the even crosshatching he'd slashed in before the searing. Presentation, he reminded himself. That's what was important.

Not the Australian asshole's sudden interest in strolling hand in chocolate-covered hand down Fake Memory Lane.

Thus, he was surprised to stand up from the oven and find the kid standing right beside him, smirking enough for dimples, one hand on the sliver of counter between their ranges and one hand on his hip.

"What the fuck, Hansen?"

Because they were standing a little too close, and he wasn't sure what message it would send if he backed a prudent step. He wasn't sure what this was yet.

"Still wanna go to Nobu, then?"

He blinked. "Uh...?"

"If I'd known it was so important, I'd have found a way to do both, mate."

Frowning a bit, he tried desperately to remember that this was all one hundred percent bullshit, and they didn't have time for it. "Chuck... what are you doing?"

Those weirdly light-colored eyes lowered to take Raleigh in from thighs to baby blues, and Raleigh felt himself flush under the thoroughness of that leisurely look.

His voice low -- but not low enough that the mics wouldn't catch it, like before -- Chuck leaned a bit closer. "Wishing I remembered the taste of your sweat, love."

A slow roll of heat swept through him. This was... Jesus. He was most definitely, absolutely gay. He still questioned it every now and then, but right now, he knew.

Lips numb, he tried to speak, but his voice was distressingly hoarse. "What happened to precious?"

For a long, heart-stopping moment, he thought the kid would actually lean in and kiss him. He saw the intent all over that freckled, handsome face.

Then, Chuck seemed to remember they were in the middle of something and stepped back. "Precious was when we were fucking." Another slow look that took him in from shoes to hair with the added distance. "Always called you love when we were making it."

Jesus, the kid was laying it on thick. Whatever "it" was. Frankly, he was too flustered and confused to even guess.

Feeling weirdly guilty as the jerk finally, _finally_ turned back to his cooking, Raleigh looked at the war clock and was both relieved and astonished that the shenanigans hadn't even taken five minutes off their alloted time. That didn't seem possible, but he wasn't about to question it.

But, as he turned back to the counter to get... shit, he didn't even remember what, he couldn't help but sneak a glance at the audience, looking for Yancy and a little reality in all the weirdness.

It didn't help. The audience, to a one, were all staring with their jaws dropped. Yancy included.

Fuck. His. Life.


	19. Chapter 19

"Your girlfriend's back."

After all the saucy flirting -- no cooking pun intended -- earlier, Chuck's flat tone struck Raleigh as more than passing strange. He glanced up from the soup he was currently taste-testing, then at the audience where Chuck gestured.

Mako. In the audience, right next to Pentecost.

She smiled softly at him, and he felt... calmer. And slightly annoyed at Chuck's weirdness, but too relieved that she was nearby and not devastated to act on it.

Much.

"She's not my girlfriend."

A snort. "Looked awful chummy exchanging numbers earlier, mate."

He rolled his eyes and gave his soup another good stir. "'Chummy' being the operative word, babe." Oops. It was kind of rote by now, though. "We're friends. Friends exchange numbers. And it's still none of your business."

The kid fell quiet for a moment while Raleigh checked his stuffed breasts. They looked amazing, the soft mascarpone oozing out to brown on the sheet, and smelled even better.

"Not had much time for friends, but you lot've been doing a bit more handholding than I'd expect from two new chums, yeah?"

Again rolling his eyes, he stood away from the oven and propped his hands on his hips. "Jesus, kid, really? Fine." He turned to face the audience. "Mako, you're not interested in me like that, right?"

Surprised when the entire audience craned around to eye her -- including Pentecost, though his stoic expression showed none of the avid curiosity everyone else showed -- she blushed a bit and cleared her throat. "Forgive me, Raleigh, but... I was under the impression that you are... gay?"

He smirked. Somehow, being officially outed -- no takesy-backsies later -- on national television didn't seem so bad when it came from Mako Mori.

"I am." Turning a raised eyebrow on his bullshit ex, he huffed. "See? Not my girlfriend. Good enough?"

Apparently not, if the continued frown was any indication. "Thought you were bi."

This. Fucking. Guy.

"I never said that. Now can we _please_ stop talking about this? On national television?"

That, at least, got the kid to back off. "Right. Sorry."

Raleigh was just about to check his chutney to make sure it hadn't cooked down too much when Chuck Hansen, asshole extraordinaire... smiled. It was directed at whatever the hell he was fiddling with on his counter, but it was absolutely a smile. Not a grin. Not a smirk.

And oh, those dimples.

What the fuck?

Not important. He had things to do.

Luckily, everything was bubbling along nicely enough that he should be able to scooch over to the shelves and pick plates and bowls. He wasn't quite ready to plate yet and still had just over ten minutes to go, but it was definitely the most efficient time to be away from his station, so he snuck past the weirdly smiling jerk and turned his attention to the selection.

After a moment's thought, he picked rustic light tan plates with brown edging and matching bowls, figuring to play up the homey comfort food he was about to serve. He'd normally want stark white to prominently display all the colors he'd deliberately chosen, but not this time.

He was a simple man who cooked simple food. Deceptively simple, but that was beside the point.

Just as he'd stacked everything the way he wanted it, he realized Chuck had, yet again, appeared out of nowhere to stand uncomfortably close to him. In fact, he'd have to take a good step back if he wanted to turn completely around without smacking his stack of dishes against all that bulk.

"Seriously, Hansen, what's your--"

Oh. The kid didn't even look at the plates or other serving ware stacked on the shelves. He didn't seem to care that the clock was ticking down, though there wasn't currently a time crunch.

Those light eyes -- gray, Raleigh thought again, and likely as changeable as the jerk's moods -- stared directly into his from far too close to ignore.

His breath suddenly coming short, he tried to act like he wasn't keenly interested in why Chuck Hansen was taking up all the shelf space. "If you're trying to distract me...."

He didn't finish. Because it was _working._ Goddammit, but it was working like clockwork, and if he shifted his stack over to his left side, he could lean just that much and be pressed against all that muscle again. God help him, but he was genuinely tempted.

"You've got plenty of time, mate. You're all but done." Damn that low, intimate tone. It wasn't quite low enough to be completely private, but it was definitely low enough to send a shiver down his spine. "Barring catastrophy, the game's damn near over, so this won't matter one way or the other."

He swallowed, his throat as dry as a desert. "What won't?"

Lower still, and this tone was definitely meant just for Raleigh. "Me wanting you."

They were close enough that Chuck had damn near whispered it into Raleigh's mouth. He had no idea when they'd leaned together, but they clearly had, because if he tilted his head even the slightest bit, they'd be kissing. He could almost feel Chuck's mouth already, warm and greedy against his own.

What the hell _was_ this? Was it just the challenge talking? The adrenaline of competition?

He didn't... Chuck wouldn't... _why??_

The whole damn studio seemed to hold its breath.

His eyes closed without consulting with his brain. Chuck Hansen was a goddamn magnet. Somehow, despite the shitty attitude and the literal punching and the fact that one or the other of them would be losing as soon as--

The competition. The show.

_Fuck! Abort! Abort!_

Gasping, he backed away, clutching the stack of plates and staring at the giant Australian whirlwind that had blown in and spun his normally level-headed mind into a ruckus. Damn, but the kid looked almost as drugged as Raleigh had felt, like he didn't even realize Raleigh had pulled away yet.

Then, gray eyes blinked fully open, and for a second -- just a fraction of a heartbeat -- Chuck looked... hurt. And that didn't feel right at all.

So, instead of backing off completely, instead of slamming a door he hadn't even realized could actually be open, he swallowed hard and glanced at the clock.

His voice hoarse, he compromised as best he could. "Seven minutes."

The kid was no one's fool. The hurt vanished, and a slow, dangerous smirk curved that distracting, tempting mouth. "Seven minutes."

Damn if he didn't feel a stir in his jeans at the promise in that dark tone. He didn't give a damn what the corporate suits thought about their shenanigans at this point. He wanted to plate his food, go back to the waiting room, and see if Chuck Hansen tasted as good as he looked.

But not now. All in good time. As the old poem said, he had promises to keep and miles to go before he could sleep.

Or make out with the competition while the judges deliberated. Either way.

Busy, busy, busy.


	20. Chapter 20

It was the longest seven minutes of his life.

Even taking his time, arranging the stuffed, roasted duck breasts on their separate plates took no time at all. Creating an attractive tumble of chutney and drizzling a line of the thickened sauce around the curve of each plate was done in a breath. Making sure to pile in enough of each color of potato and just enough black trumpets to stand out against the heavy-creamed broth, then layering on the cayenned strips of seared duck meat he'd pulled off the drumsticks, then sprinkling on caramelized persimmon bits barely got the clock down under five minutes.

Dammit. If he spent the next four-plus minutes staring at his work, he'd find at least ten things to hate and reconsider about it. He should've made some kind of quick-rise bread. Something herby and dense. But how to have incorporated the ingredients?

No. It would've just been an extraneous touch that added nothing to the theme of the meal. It was fine.

And he'd swear Chuck was literally waving that beautiful ass at him at this point. _So much bending over._ Jesus, were those pants painted on??

Three minutes. God help him.

Should he... no. He didn't need to fiddle with anything. He'd done his best. Everything was fine. If he could just stop _staring_ at everything.

A small bundle of fresh sage dropped by his left hand. Frowning, he looked at it for a second, then glanced over to where Chuck had somehow moved quickly enough to be right back at his plating without missing a beat.

Chopped fresh sage _would_ make for a nice garnish. Dammit. And he had plenty of time. But the _balls_ on the kid for making suggestions to the competition's food....

Just as he decided to ignore the gesture, said kid glanced up, grinned crookedly with those goddamn dimples, and... winked.

Yeah, okay. It _was_ a good idea.

Dammit.

And chopping a few leaves down to lightly sprinkle over the duck breasts and chutney took just long enough that he wasn't in an agony of self-recriminations for the last two and a half minutes. So... worth it.

"Aaaannnnd time! Chefs, please back away." Newt sounded overly excited about this last competition, but Raleigh didn't blame him too much. This was the end, after all. "I am so freakin jealous right now because everything looks amazing and I don't get to eat _any_ of it."

Chef Gottlieb rolled his eyes. "Newton, if you please."

"Says the guy who gets to try both dinners, Hermann."

The other two judges remained quiet, both of them weirdly intent on on the chefs instead of the dinners. Admittedly, they had accidentally put on something of a show, but....

Yeah, okay. He and Chuck had probably earned the stares.

Blushing suddenly, he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and waited for Gottlieb and Geiszler to quit bickering and dismiss them. He had... business... to attend to. Probably.

But a quick glance at Chuck assured him, there. The big Australian jerk with the gorgeous ass and pretty gray eyes was still on board.

"Anyway, chefs, if you'll please retire to the wait room until we call you?"

Oh, thank God.

Unfortunately, as expected, Tendo followed them, handheld camera in hand, and before the door even closed, the poor guy butted in.

"Okay, I know those looks you two are throwing around, but you have to wait."

Was that a growl? It sure as hell sounded like a growl. The expression on Chuck's face certainly suited the sound.

"Seriously? You each have to tell them what you made. After that, I feel a pressing need to attend to other details while they deliberate. Good enough?"

His face felt like it was on fire, and he couldn't help the sheepish grin that spread over his face, but he definitely appreciated the discretion. Or maybe just the fact that even a gifted producer on the way up like Tendo had no intention of turning a cooking show into a porno.

Fuck. Shouldn't have that of it like that.

"Chef Becket?"

This was absolutely not the time for a boner. So, he clenched his fists and determinedly did not look at Chuck as he followed the tech up the hall and back into the studio lights. He couldn't do a damn thing about the color of his face, but if asked, he damn well intended to blame it on the oppressive heat in the kitchen area.

He didn't even care if no one believed him.

"So, Raleigh...."

Oh, shit. The hipster huckster had a tone.

Closing his eyes, he sighed. "Chef Becket."

"Right, right." Better. "So... what'd you make?"

Grinning wryly, he opened his eyes and gave the judges his full attention. This was all but over, anyway. Might as well ride it down to the ground.

"What you have there, judges, is a stuffed, roasted duck breast with persimmon chutney and a cream of mushroom and potato soup."

Lips twitching, he waited. It didn't take long.

Chau sighed. "Really, kid?"

Relaxing finally, he chuckled. "All right, all right. Roasted duck breast stuffed with persimmon, black trumpet mushroom, duck bacon, and mascarpone, and duck broth soup with purple and sweet potatoes and black trumpet mushrooms with seared duck on top. And various herbs and spices. And there's some other fruit in the chutney. Better?"

Chau rolled his eyes, but Chef Sasha speared him with icy -- but not cold -- eyes and a sharp smile. "A simple man, yes, but not so simple tastes?"

Was she...? Yeah. She was probably talking about Chuck.

Blushing again, he lowered his gaze. "Who doesn't like a little spice where they least expect it?"

Out of nowhere, Gottlieb huffed and got in his two cents. "Careful you don't burn your tongue with that sort of spice, son."

Great. They were _all_ talking about Chuck.

But he couldn't argue what was clearly obvious to the world, so he grinned ruefully and shrugged. "Maybe if I counter it with enough sweet, it won't burn so bad."

Chau snorted, Chef Sasha winked, and Gottlieb chuckled. "You're a far braver man than I, Chef Becket. Go on with you, then."

Bowing, he made his retreat. Chuck had likely seen all of that. He hoped he hadn't offended. It'd be a shame to get all worked up and embarrass himself on national television and not even get a kiss out of the deal.

Thankfully, a single step back into the room proved that the kid was still fully invested. Giving him another of those slow, lingering looks from toes to hair, Chuck shoved away from the wall without uncrossing his arms.

"Reckon I'd best wait in the hall."

Tendo rolled his eyes. "Oh, my God, really?"

Smirking, Chuck gave Raleigh one last perusal and headed for the door. Tendo made no move to stop him as he stepped outside and closed it behind him.

"Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?"

Fairly certain his blush went all the way down to his belly button by this point, Raleigh put his hands over his face. "No. Not even a little bit."

Chuckling, ol' Elvis Hair shook his head. "Sympathies, brother. I'm not sure if I should wish you luck or not."

Running a hand through his hair, he slumped back against the wall, grinning a bit. "I need all the help I can get, man."

Tendo, good sort that he was, just grinned and winked. Soon enough, the monitor flicked on, and there he was. The Australian asshole who walked like a ridiculously gorgeous man.

_Chuck Hansen, everyone._


	21. Chapter 21

Ignoring the knowing looks from judges and audience alike, Chuck stood tall and broad and said his piece.

"Right, then. What you've got there is ducktail-folded pasta stuffed with ground duck, black trumpet mushroom, and barley on a bed of duck and black trumpet potato hash with cream sauce, drizzled with a persimmon and peach brandy reduction. You'll wanna sop that lot up with the persimmon cornbread on the side."

Dammit. He knew he should've made some sort of bread.

"Also, I threw in a few duck breast medallions steamed with black trumpet broth and topped with butter-broiled persimmon slices."

Shaking his head, Raleigh was again appalled -- amused? -- by the balls on this kid. _Threw in a few._ Like duck breast medallions were just lying around willy-nilly, and it struck him at the last second to plate a few.

Such a prick.

But, as he'd noted before, an _entertaining_ prick.

The judges, though, weren't about to let him go so easily. Chef Sasha, especially, seemed less interested in the food than in the man.

"No chopped sage to top your masterpiece, Little Hansen?"

Raleigh really needed to stop blushing so easily. Chuck wasn't blushing at all, as far as he could tell.

The kid did, however, tilt his head a bit and consider before replying. "Noticed the bloke seems to like sage, is all." A shrug. "I reckon it's something to do with his mum, since he put it in her French toast straight off."

Jesus. That was... how...?

That Chuck had noticed such a small thing as his preference for a specific spice was startling enough, but that he'd ascribed meaning to it? _Accurate_ meaning that could only be based on keen observation from when they'd been anything but reluctant fake exes?

Perhaps because of how slowly he'd accepted his sexual preference, Raleigh hadn't done more with a man than make out a few times and receive a blowjob once, but right now, that didn't matter an iota. After that bombshell, Chuck Hansen could do whatever he wanted to him.

Raleigh Becket was on board, one hundred percent.

And when the kid... the jerk... the... when Chuck glanced into the audience to nod to Yancy? Who fucking nodded back?

He'd never wanted anyone more in his life.

The door opened, signifying that time had passed of which he had no memory. Chuck looked at him for a long moment, jaw clenched and eyes intent.

"If you want out, mate, now's the time."

The low, almost growling tone rolled through him, and he shuddered out a sigh. "Chuck?"

That big hand tightened on the doorknob. "Yeah?"

He leaned back against the wall. "Lock the door."

Without ever looking away, his rival shut the door, flipped the lock, and strode across the floor almost as aggressively as into the fight. As expected, that big body crushed him against the wall, but Raleigh greeted it with open arms and an open mouth. Chuck kissed with the same focus and force he'd thrown into every punch, and he drank it up, dragging his hands down the broad back stretching that damn gray t-shirt.

It had to go. _Everything_ had to go.

"Fuck, Raleigh--" Another aggressive kiss. "Been thinking about this all fucking day--" Hard, hot hands up under his undershirt, gripping and possessive. "Thought I'd fucked up any chance after--" A choked-off, moaning whimper as Chuck gave up on words entirely and let his body do the talking.

All Raleigh could do was follow along. He had no idea how to say "do whatever the fuck you want to me" without coming right out with it, so he hoped his utter inability to hold back as Chuck fucking _devoured_ him said it without words. His shirt vanished. So did Chuck's. That hot, almost biting mouth moved to his jaw, then down his neck, those hard hands stroking at every curve and line of muscle on his torso, gripping at the curve of his ass.

"Goddammit, precious, you are so fucking gorgeous."

Breathless, he let his head drop back against the wall and ran his fingers into all that ginger hair. Earlier, he'd sort of wanted to rip it out, but now, he needed that grip to keep him on his feet. Apparently, his nipples were embarrassingly sensitive.

He almost bit off his tongue when one of those big hands stroked down low and cupped his groin. His dick swelled uncomfortably in the confines of his jeans. So much strength in that hand. If Chuck wanted, he could cause an almost infinite amount of pain right now.

A firm but careful stroke proved he'd do no such thing.

"Chuck... Jesus, don't... stop doing that... _fuck...."_

That beautiful grip _did_ stop, but Raleigh didn't complain because it only stopped so Chuck could unzip his jeans, releasing some of the agonizing pressure and... oh, fuck, and _drop to his knees._

There wasn't even any fumbling. He barely had time to breathe before both jeans and boxer briefs were down to his knees and Chuck's arrogant, taunting mouth was all around his throbbing, too-sensitive cock.

His vocabulary devolved to increasingly more hoarse reiterations of Chuck's name, his hands alternately clenching in ginger hair on particularly deep passes or stroking it lovingly when Chuck was kind enough to give him a moment to catch his breath and edge him back. Then, he made the mistake of actually looking down at his cock disappearing into Chuck's mouth, and he gasped and arched, gripping the wall at his back with splayed hands.

"Jesus, Chuck, you're so fucking... I can't... _fuck..._ Jesus, babe, just fucking _ruin_ me."

Hmming low in his throat -- oh, sweet mercy, the _vibrations_ \-- the giant Australian bastard currently sucking his brains out through his dick slid a hand up his thigh and cupped his balls, and it was all over. His orgasm punched out of him, and he tried to warn the poor guy, he really did, but it was too late.

Chuck didn't seem to mind.

Too much. The suction was too much too soon. He couldn't....

His knees buckled, and his rival-turned-lover gave up on tormenting him to stand up and press him back against the wall again, holding him up with that gorgeous, broad bulk. These kisses were much less aggressive, but no less welcome.

He didn't even mind the taste. He felt like ten times the prize money.

And though Chuck's obvious and likely painful erection ground into his sensitive groin with every subtle shift, the guy made no move to ease it any just yet. Big hands moved with leisurely care on his tingling skin, in no hurry to turn them around and drop Raleigh to his knees, or whatever Chuck might have in mind. In fact, for the first time since seven minutes before time ran out, the kid seemed to be in no hurry.

Thorough _and_ considerate.

He never would have guessed.

Grinning sloopily, he finally let his head fall back against the wall and looked with hazy, half-lidded eyes at the crazy Aussie who had turned him inside out. Beautiful, really. Adorable freckles. A hint of dimples, though Chuck wasn't actually smiling. And those eyes. Jesus, those eyes. They practically danced with light as they watched him in turn, waiting to see what he'd do or say.

So, voice wrecked, he chuckled. "Your turn?"

A big hand touched his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek. "Not until you're ready."

"I am." Buzzed enough to be brave, he ran a hand down the light fuzz of ginger hair on that broad chest and those cut abs to cup Chuck's bulging zipper. That... was not insubstantial. His grin went crooked. "That's... gonna need some work to take."

A shudder ran through that big body, but Chuck's eyes widened. "You... mean you want me to fuck you?"

Even after that mind-blowing blowjob, the kid hadn't assumed. Jesus, this guy.

"If you have a condom and some lube, I am all yours." He leaned in for a kiss. "Babe."

"Fuck." Those light eyes heated, but the grip didn't lessen. "Didn't reckon on getting laid today, so I didn't bring a goddamn thing. Is there... fuck... can you stand on your own for a second whilst I go rummage?"

Still damn near drunk from his orgasm, he grinned again. "First aid kit's under the sink. Might check there first."

Despite a tremble in his hands now that Raleigh was an absolute sure thing, Chuck lingered long enough to make sure he wouldn't collapse like a bunch of broccoli the second he let go. It was yet another oddly gentle side he hadn't expected from such an aggressive, in-your-face guy, but he didn't second guess it this late in the day. He'd seen too many flashes of it to doubt it now.

So he leaned patiently against the wall and waited for his new lover to come back, grinning and wondering how the hell this was his life now. Not that he was complaining.

"Fuck, love, I'm sorry, but... no condoms, no lube." Chuck looked honestly regretful as he slumped back over, stopping entirely too far away. "Nothing that'll even do in a pinch."

Raleigh frowned, wondering why the kid looked so upset. Then, it struck him.

Chuck thought this was a one-time-only offer. That if they didn't get it on now, the moment would pass.

This. Fucking. Guy.

Feeling entirely too fond of someone he'd only met yesterday, he gathered his returning energy and shoved away from the wall, reaching out to hook a finger in Chuck's waistband and pull him closer.

"Guess we'll have to do that later then, huh?"

Gray eyes met his, hesitant and ready to be irritated. Grinning, Raleigh leaned in, chest to chest, his pants still around his knees. Unfortunately, Chuck leaned back just as much, keeping enough space between them for eye contact.

"Right." That was not a sexy tone. "Because if I win, you'll still want anything to do with me."

His eyebrows rose, but he didn't back away. "Actually, I was gonna put you up against the wall and try to blow your brains out for now, and then, yes, let you fuck me later."

Oh, so wary. "You're saying... win or lose, you're still down?"

But that was an easy one, so he just smirked. "Yeah, I am. You?"

The big jerk's mouth twitched at one corner, the wariness easing away, his cheek flirting with that devastating dimple. "Whoever wins tops?"

Considering he'd never had anal sex before, he had no intention of topping until he knew what it felt like himself, if it hurt, if it was really worth all the preparation for both participants, but he figured Chuck didn't need that kind of clarification right now. So, he leaned in close enough that he felt warm breath on his face and closed his eyes.

"Whoever wins tops." He didn't kiss just yet, though he felt Chuck's lips move in a try. "So lean your ass against that wall, because I want to choke on that monster in your pants."

"Jesus, precious, your fucking mouth...."

He smirked. "Wait 'til you see it wrapped around your cock."

"Fuck me, Raleigh--"

"Hn." Looking the kid right in the eye, he winked. "Only if I win."

_"Fuuuuck."_


	22. Chapter 22

He hadn't given a blowjob before. He didn't care. Even face to face with a dick that rivaled his own -- thicker, he thought, as he wrapped his fingers around the girth, though maybe not quite as long -- he wasn't scared of it.

He wanted it.

The clench of that big body as he gave just the head a suck was epic. He hadn't really considered before how much power the person on their knees had, but at the moment, he sincerely wondered if he could bring Chuck Hardass Hansen to tears, just with his mouth. Taking in slightly more and dragging the flat of his tongue along the underside suggested he probably could, if the shivering exhale was any indication.

But he didn't want Chuck to cry. He wanted him to come.

So he ran his hands up thick-muscled thighs -- did the guy play soccer, maybe? Or rugby? -- and took in as much as he was comfortable with, pausing a moment to feel the... the weight... the reality of that large, throbbing, heated flesh in his mouth, then pulling back with a good, hard suck.

"Oh, fuck me, precious, look so fucking g-- ah, _fuck_ \-- so fucking _good_ like that."

Strong hands reached for him, the fingers threading through his hair, and he braced himself to be hauled in closer than he was really ready for yet. But Chuck didn't rush him. Just... touched him. Stroked restless fingers through his hair. Unbelievable.

Such restraint in someone he'd expected to be forceful and aggressive deserved one hell of a reward. Humming a bit -- and yes, it appeared Chuck liked the low vibrations just as much as Raleigh had -- he stroked his thumbs up the sensitive creases between thighs and groin and took a good, hard grip on slender hips. Then, he took in enough of that beautiful cock to choke on.

"Fuck... Raleigh... _fuck...."_

When even the hitch in his stomach from his gag reflex didn't make him want to stop, he hummed again and went to town. He was messy with it and did not care. A little drool never hurt anyone, and Chuck's vocalizations made less and less sense the deeper down his throat Raleigh worked him. Swallowing around the girth almost hurt, and he still didn't care. Chuck was falling apart in his hands, and it was fucking beautiful.

He still couldn't quite take the whole thing, but when the fingers in his hair formed an actual grip and tried to pull him away, he decided it didn't matter. Even the stuttered warning that Chuck was about to come only made him glance up to make sure Chuck actually _wanted_ to come, didn't want to maybe be edged back from it to start all over again. He wasn't sure what to make of the tense, flushed look on that handsome face, though, so he paused and hummed the question.

And there was a knock on the goddamn door.

"Oh, fuck me sideways, Raleigh, please don't stop--"

The kid was practically sobbing, and he didn't want that at all, so he firmed his grip again and pulled that glorious cock in until he couldn't breathe, sucking and working his tongue. Another knock on the door, and Chuck thunked his head back against the wall, cursing and jerking against Raleigh's grip.

"Two minutes, guys, and I'm unlocking the door."

_"Fuck off, Elvis!"_

Despite the situation, Raleigh tried to snicker, choked on the blockage to his throat, and had to back off enough to suck in a harsh breath and swallow down the slightly stronger hitch in his stomach. Chuck gasped a whine, but Raleigh was back on him in a heartbeat, swallowing him down and dragging a hand down to cup the balls he'd ignored until now, hoping the added sensation would trip the poor, desperate bastard over into the orgasm he so desperately needed.

"Raleigh... Jesus, I... fuck... _fuck!"_

The first wash of come felt like more than it could possibly be, and his stomach didn't want to accept it, but he swallowed it down anyway. It didn't taste _bad,_ per se. Just... it wasn't exactly roast duck and creamy potato soup.

Jesus, how much more could there be?

Shuddering, Chuck slumped back against the wall, and Raleigh was suddenly helping keep approximately two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle on its feet with a meager grip on its hips. Absurdly, he snickered again without pulling back from the dick in his mouth that was a lot more manageable now that it was softening. In fact, he gave another few careful sucks, well aware of the hell of the refractory period but unwilling to let go until Chuck no longer tasted of come.

"Jesus, mate, don't laugh with my dick in your mouth." But the kid managed an exhausted huff and stroked a heavy hand through Raleigh's hair. "Gonna give me a fucking complex."

With one last chuckle, he finally quit tormenting the poor guy and stood up, pressing in close but not kissing until he was sure Chuck wanted it. Luckily, the sappy bastard didn't hesitate to wrap him up with brawny arms and lean in for a slow, lingering kiss.

"Doubt I'll ever close my eyes again without seeing you on your knees with my cock in your mouth, precious." Another light press of lips. "So goddamn beautiful."

Okay, no one had ever called him beautiful before. Well, his mother had called both her sons "my beautiful boys", but this was different.

Blushing from head to toe, he fidgeted, then stroked a hand down over the kid's lean flank, settling at his hip. "Tendo'll be back, like, any second."

Humming and smiling, Chuck blinked his eyes open, long, ginger lashes fluttering, those bright eyes hazy with afterglow.

So goddamn beautiful. Maybe it wasn't such a weird thing to say, after all.

Biting his lip, he backed a prudent step. "Unless you want to be caught literally with your pants down...."

From now on, it was officially cheating for Chuck Hansen to stretch in a slow roll of all that muscle and satin skin with his pants around his knees. And that smile. That slow, satisfied smile.

But the big jerk eventually slumped to pull up his pants, hissing a bit at the sensitivity of certain parts as he tucked them away. Then, despite the fact that the day was almost over but for the big reveal, they both washed up a bit and drank a glass of water each before shrugging back into their shirts just as the doorknob rattled.

"Last warning, kids."

"Oi, come on in, ya wanker." Muttering but in too obvious a good mood to be irritated, Chuck shook his head. "It'd serve you right if we were still fucking on the floor."

The door opened and Tendo peered cautiously around it, then shook his head. "I don't even want to know. Just... do something about the morning-after hair and get on stage."

Wide-eyed, he glanced over and... yeah. Ginger bedhead from Raleigh's fingers. Jesus, how bad was his own?

Heading for the hallway, he tried to tame the mess a bit by jerking his hands through it, but Chuck caught him right at the door and pressed him up against the jamb. He grinned, expecting one last kiss before they faced their fate, but the kid suddenly didn't look in the mood for kissyface.

In fact, Chuck looked... scared? Jesus, did winning really mean that much to him?

"Chuck...?"

After a long moment during which the poor guy tried and discarded several attempts to say something, Chuck finally looked him right in the eyes. "Win or lose, right?"

Warm spread through him like a shot of whiskey. Chuck wasn't worried about the competition. He wanted to make sure Raleigh was still on board for afterward. And not just in a "can't wait to get my dick wet" kind of way.

This kid.

So he grinned crookedly. "Win or lose."

Relief filled those gray eyes, and... damn those dimples. They'd be the death of him.

"Right. After you, then."

When Raleigh raised a single eyebrow, the big jerk actually waggled his eyebrows as he backed away.

"I've been watching your ass since you took off that damn jumper, mate. Don't deprive me now."

"Jesus, Chuck--"

"Oh, my God, you two, get your asses on that stage _right now!"_

"Yeah, yeah, Elvis." Smirking, Chuck tugged him away from the door frame and gave him a swat on the ass to get him going. "I'd say we're coming, but we're a bit past that."

Instant full-body blush.

"That's it." Tendo threw up his hands, almost throwing the handheld with the force of it. "After this show, I quit."

Chuck only snickered and followed along behind.


	23. Chapter 23

Newt took one look at them and flung out his tattooed arms. "What the hell happened _now?"_

Blushing and well aware that he was only enhancing The Glow, Raleigh could only shake his head. Chuck, of course, smirked, slow and smug.

"Make-up sex."

The audience murmured and shifted like restless cattle. Yancy facepalmed. And, oddly, there were a few wolf whistles and a smatter of applause.

Newt, on the other hand, looked taken aback. "Ew. I mean... I hope you washed your hands. Like... really well."

Mortified, Raleigh clapped both hands over his face and groaned.

"Dear God, Newton--"

"Oi, ya pervert!"

Without thinking of the motion, he shot out a hand and grabbed the kid by the forearm. A good thing, too. When he risked a look, Chuck had taken a threatening step forward, fists clenched.

"Jesus, I meant blowjobs, asshole! You really think we had time for anything else?"

It was Gottlieb's turn to facepalm. "Mr. Choi, please tell me that will be edited out."

Chau grinned, looking remarkably chipper. "If not, this'll be the first R-rated cooking show on the channel."

Sasha shot him a look that could etch glass. "Lucky us."

Unperturbed, the goggled weirdo shrugged. "I ain't complainin'. My ship just went canon."

This was his life. Jesus.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed. "Can we please... not? Just get on with the show and not talk about... any of this? Ever again?"

Chuck immediately backed down. "Right. Sorry, love. Just... oi, get on with it, yeah?"

The covered dish sat at the end of the panel setting, and despite his mortification, Raleigh couldn't help but shoot a glance at it and wonder. He wanted to win. Hell, he _needed_ to win.

But he no longer wanted to beat Chuck. He didn't _think_ the kid would take it too hard at this point, but--

"Gentlemen." Gottlieb drew himself up and clasped his hands together. "From the start, you've both proved that your reputations are well-earned. You are bold with your choices and flavor profiles, skilled in multiple techniques, and brilliant in presentation."

Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, they both nodded.

"Chef Becket, again, what seems like a simple dish is so much more than a description could do justice. I begin to think you are a man of few words because so few words will do."

Chuck elbowed him and, surprisingly, grinned. He could only grin back.

"The stuffed duck breast is perfect. I can't think of another word. How you pack so much savory flavor into that mixture while bringing it back just enough with the caramelized persimmon and that lovely mascarpone... heavenly. It just melted together. I almost didn't even have to chew."

"I wanted another one." Flashing that expensive grill again, Chau thumped his stomach. "If I didn't suspect you had plans later...."

Closing his eyes, he shook his head. He didn't dare look at Chuck.

"Anyway, it was pure ambrosia on its own." Gottlieb gave him another of those small, warm smiles. "So imagine my surprise when your marvelous chutney made it even better. Sweet and thick and so spicy I wanted to resort to water until I took another bite and let the mascarpone soothe it without losing any of the flavor. Son, you truly have a gift."

Sasha smiled with none of the acid she'd spared for Chau. "He does not mention your lovely soup, Little Becket. So beautiful to look at, it could not possibly taste so good. But it does, yes?"

Chau hmmed appreciatively. Gottlieb nodded his approval, as well.

"Cream of mushroom and potato soup, Chef Becket. That's what you called it. But the aromatic herbs, the sage and the black trumpet mushrooms, the perfectly-cooked texture of those wonderful, silky purple potatoes alongside the starchy bite of the sweet potatoes, the lovely heat of the cayenne seared into the duck tidbits in all that creamy, rich broth...." Seeming to run out of words, finally, the not-so-stodgy Brit sighed. "Your meal was excellent, son. Just... wonderful. Absolutely no complaints."

Flustered all over again by such high praise, he managed a quick bow and a murmured "Thank you" before lapsing back into flabbergasted silence.

What now? Because Chuck still stood close enough that their shoulders touched.

Regrouping, Gottlieb again drew himself back to his more businesslike persona. "As for you, Chef Hansen... also perfection."

Wait, what?

His shoulders rose, and though his nervousness for the outcome and all the hopes riding on it ratcheted up a notch, he couldn't help but shoot Chuck a wide-eyed grin.

"I love a stuffed pasta, and when the stuffing consists of such rich ingredients as duck and black trumpet mushrooms, how could I complain? And boiling them in duck broth steeped that rich, heady flavor in the pasta, enhancing every bite. And the hash with cream sauce was absolutely heavenly. The white pepper in the ground duck was almost enough to bring on a sweat, but you brought it back with that thick roux and the sticky-sweet cornbread."

Chau raised a hand. "I want the recipe. I don't care what I have to do to get it."

Eyes closed. Headshake. He was never living this down.

Chuck, however, only snorted. "Sorry, mate, but my ass is spoken for."

He did not blush at the implication that they were more than just succumbing to the heat of competition and the craziness of the day and the completely fake past between them. Not at all.

That... wasn't something they'd even thought to talk about yet.

"At any rate." Gottlieb's raised voice brought everyone back on track. "Don't even get me started on the peach brandy reduction. It should have been almost cloying with the persimmon added in, but it wasn't. You've said you won't admit to witchcraft on telly, son, so I won't ask how you did it. I'll just say that it worked."

The audience chuckled. Chuck smirked and shrugged.

"But the true highlight were the duck breast medallions and those delectible broiled persimmon slices. I know you said you steamed them with black trumpet broth, Chef Hansen, but they tasted as if you somehow combined the two completely. And so tender and juicy and bursting with flavor. All set off by the melting sweetness of buttery persimmon char."

Well. No way in hell he was beating that. Chef Gottlieb sounded as if he'd had a religious awakening while dining on Chuck's dinner, and the other judges were apparently too lost in happy reminiscence to add anything to the succulent listing of virtues.

But he'd promised, and he'd meant it.

So, despite practically feeling his and Yancy's chances of reopening the restaurant any time soon fluttering through his fingertips, he leaned his shoulder into Chuck's for a moment and gave him a small, sad smile. Far from gloating at the forthcoming win, though, Chuck just looked back, blank-faced, and laced their fingers together without drawing attention to it.

"So, gentlemen... here we have it."

_Don't look at Yancy. Don't look at Yancy. Don't look at--_

"A tie."

A what now? The audience murmured and shifted but, strangely, no one protested.

Chuck's hand tightened on his. "You've gotta be shitting me, mate."

"I'm afraid not." Shaking his head, Gottlieb looked to the other judges for support. "We talked it over and over, but we absolutely could not choose. There simply were no off notes to parse on, to drop one or the other of you enough to tip the scales."

Chau patted his stomach. "Not that we're complaining."

Blinking, Raleigh confusedly pointed at the covered dish with the hand not currently being crushed in Chuck's grip. "Wait, so what's under the dome?"

Newt, who could've been filing his taxes in the background for all Raleigh had noticed him this whole time, shrugged. "Nothing. Neither of you are cut. And it totally wasn't me who tried a little of everything once we were sure we wouldn't need display plates anymore. Instead, it's time for...."

Jesus, not with the carny huckster pose again. With the rolled-up sleeves, it just looked like the dork was showing off his tattoos.

"...Sudden Death Dessert!"

Groaning, Chuck let his head fall back. "This is gonna take forever."

Geiszler huffed a laugh. "What, like you had other plans?"

Rolling his head back to center, the big jerk lifted Raleigh's hand, still clutched in his. Oh, good. The full-body blush was back.

Jesus. Christ.

"Oh. Right. Uh... sorry?"

"Let's just get this over with." Grumbling under his breath, Chuck headed for the counters, dragging Raleigh along behind. "We better get to keep some of this one, though. If I'm not licking chocolate off you at some point tonight, I will burn this studio to the ground."

He was sweating with the force of the blush at this point. "Chuck!"

The kid stopped just at the counters, eyes wide. "Jesus, did I say that aloud?"

Every single audience member nodded. Chau nodded and damn near blinded them with his grill.

"Well, fuck. Sorry?"

Shaking his head, he gave the kid's hand a squeeze, then let go, relieved when Chuck did the same.

"Whatever. At this point, I have no shame left." Grinning to show he didn't really mean it, he shrugged. "Might as well embrace it."

God, those dimples. "That's the spirit."

Besides. Only one more round to go.


	24. Chapter 24

"All righty then." Newt clapped his hands together, hopefully for the last time. "Here's how Sudden Death Dessert works. The deadlocked chefs will be given two mystery ingredients to incorporate into a drool-worthy dessert, and the judges, instead of grading subjectively, will fill out objective scoring sheets to determine a winner."

Sounded reasonable. Raleigh exchanged a glance with Chuck, who shrugged.

"In the unlikely event that the tie remains at the end of the tie-breaker round, the prize money will be split between the two reigning chefs. But that's pretty unlikely."

That didn't sound so bad. Half of the prize money was better than no prize money at all, and that way, neither of them had to lose.

But with an objective scoring sheet, it did seem pretty unlikely.

"Now, chefs, if you please."

Game face. He was okay with tying, but he didn't want to lose. So, he tilted the bag slowly and... huh. Peanut butter -- organic and all-natural, of course, with Chau's logo on the label -- and... some sort of fruit? The roundish things were green-skinned and sort of bumpy. Surely, they wouldn't give them a vegetable for dessert.

"Gentlemen, those are cherimoya fruits. I believe these are from Peru, but they're native to that whole area." Newt held up a finger. "Fun fact: the seeds are poisonous. Please don't poison the judges."

"Jesus." Chuck had been sniffing one, but he pulled back like it had bitten him. "Please tell me these things aren't like a pomegranate inside."

Geiszler rolled his eyes. "No. In fact, they're also called 'custard apples', for reasons you'll probably understand the second you slice one open. So. Peanut butter and cherimoya." The hyper little hipster actually saluted them. "Gentlemen, you have thirty minutes. Good luck."

Deciding that getting a feel for the unusual fruit's taste and texture would probably give him some ideas about what to do with the thing, he sliced one down the middle and picked out the visible seeds. The texture was definitely soft. It probably wouldn't hold together well enough for sautéeing or anything too high heat. In fact, it was soft enough that he easily scooped out a bit of the flesh on the point of his knife.

Tropical. Almost like a pina colada without the alcohol flavor. Definitely... creamy? And sweet, but not with the sickening overripe aftertaste he'd feared upon feeling how soft it was.

It would definitely go with the peanut butter. But probably not with chocolate. Poor Chuck. Although, knowing the kid, Raleigh figured he'd probably find a way.

For a long moment, he genuinely considered breaking down a few and making a light, tropical ice cream to pair with a richer peanut butter custard. He even glanced at the ice cream machine on the far counter.

Then, he caught Chuck doing the same and, as one, they looked at each other and shook their heads.

The audience let out a sigh of relief.

Grinning -- albeit sheepishly -- he decided on something of a tart instead and headed for the shelves to gather up his ingredients. A quick-fold filo dough, perhaps, since it wouldn't need to rise, with half butter and half creamy peanut butter rolled between the layers instead of just butter or oil. Maybe a brandy-sage and cherimoya reduction as a glaze.

He didn't startle as Chuck pressed up against his back this time, that heavy, warm hand resting on his hip as the big jerk reached past him for the vanilla beans. Instead, he gave himself a moment to enjoy the sensation of all that broad strength and pretended not to feel the quick brush of lips against his temple as it pulled away.

"Oh, my God, guys, get a room."

He opened his mouth to accuse the hyper little prick of being jealous, but Chuck beat him to it.

"Had one. Ol' Handy Cam there kicked us out."

Tendo, who had been minding his business behind the production bank and didn't even have the camera in hand, protested. "Don't bring me into this."

Shaking his head, he nudged Chuck in the back as he walked by back to his counter section. It was... weirdly nice to be able to do so, actually. He'd worked too hard these past years to even think about dating or the small intimacies that went with it. Hell, even just wrestling with himself over his attraction to men instead of women had kept him from doing much more than seeking out the occasional handjob in a bar alley or that lone blowjob that hadn't felt anything like what Chuck had done for him.

So taking a strange, quiet comfort from the occasional stolen moment of closeness in the midst of all the show's chaos was... nice. Weird, but nice. That it came from Chuck Hansen, of all people, probably shifted the balance more toward the weird side, but after the emotional rollercoaster the day had been, Raleigh would by-God take what he could get.

Grinning, he threw together a quick, soft dough and rolled it out. Usually, he wouldn't have time for something as fiddly as making filo, what with all the folding and slathering and rolling, but the consistency of the peanut butter should save him from having to chill the whole thing between each folding of the layers. And even if it didn't, it'd be more a mess than an actual problem.

Yes, he could use the roller machine he saw gleaming next to the ice cream machine, but his mother had always made her flaky, layered pastry crusts like this, so he and Yancy had always made them this way, too. It was a shortcut and the layers wouldn't be quite as thin as if he'd used the machine, but it had always turned out better than all right.

Soon enough -- and yes, there was a mess because softened butter resisted control, even whipped together with peanut butter -- he had a broad sheet of layered dough ready to be quartered and filled and drizzled. Time to break down the cherimoyas and start his reduction.

"Remember that time we stayed in that tiny little flat in London?"

His mouth quirked. Though he didn't dread this little side trip down Fake Memory Lane as much as he probably should, even fantasy had to yield to cold, hard reality.

"That one wasn't me."

The kid shot him a look, as if gauging why he was refusing to play along. "Sure it was. Remember? Just the one room, and the bed took up probably eighty percent of it? We didn't even have our own loo?"

Amused despite himself, he grinned sunnily. "Not me."

"Of course it was you. I complained about fish and chips the whole time, and you kept making awful jokes about Alaskan cod."

His mouth twitched, and he gave in just a little bit. "Okay, the 'pick a cod, any cod' thing was me--" He politely ignored Yancy's snort from the audience because that joke was hilarious and he'd hear no argument on the subject. "--but that was when you flew into Anchorage overnight on your way to Canada."

Surely, the kid had been in a competition in Canada. He'd said that first day that he'd won every cooking show in the past five years.

Thankfully, Chuck decided to play along where Raleigh couldn't. "Okay, maybe... but that was still you in London. I'd swear it on my dog's name."

Chuck Hansen had a dog. Would wonders never cease?

The cherimoyas diced as easily as barely-softened butter, and he lightly seasoned the ones for his tart filling with cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, brown sugar, and just a zing of curry. When he'd stirred them just enough to distribute the spices, he pushed aside the bowl and propped his hands on his hips to face his fake maybe-not-an-ex-anymore.

"Chuck, I've been busting my ass on construction sites almost non-stop for the past five years. I can count the number of times I've been out of Alaska since then on one hand without using all the fingers. I _definitely_ haven't been out of the country."

Those light eyes popped wide, and he easily saw the exact moment that Chuck wanted to smack himself on the forehead. If Raleigh had gone along with that one, it would only take one person -- and there was _always_ that one person -- sneaking a peek at his passport to throw the whole thing off. Not only did he not have a stamp for England at all, but the damn thing had expired last year and he couldn't spare the money to get it renewed. Not like he had the money or the time to go anywhere, anyway.

"Jesus Christ, mate." Giving in to the urge, the poor kid thunked the heel of his hand right between his ginger eyebrows. "That must've been the bloke before you, then. Fuck, love, I'm sorry."

He winked at the excellent save, then shook his head. "I take it blonde-haired, blue-eyed construction jocks with excellent taste in fish jokes are your usual type, then?"

Grinning ruefully, the kid shrugged. "I usually go for brunettes, actually." He paused, then frowned a bit. "Now I'm thinking on it, I'm pretty sure the London bloke was actually a sheila."

He laughed before he could stop himself, then thwapped the big dork on the back of the head on his way to the shelves. He needed square-sided bowls for his tarts, and he saw no reason not to take advantage of the opportunity to get in a good, well-deserved thwap.

But it _was_ pretty funny.

So, with just shy of fifteen minutes on the clock, he buttered the bowls and pressed in the filo squares catty-corner, leaving the ends hanging over the edges. Two generous spoonfuls of cherimoya filling went in each, and he flipped the trailing ends up over the whole, lightly pressing them together without quite sealing them. A sprinkle of clove and white sugar over the top, and they were ready for the oven.

While he stirred his nicely-bubbling reduction, he couldn't help but sneak little looks at Chuck. Not at what his opposition was making, but at Chuck himself. Tall and broad, handsome in a way that had seemed so arrogant at first but was now somehow endearing. Perhaps because every time Chuck caught him looking, he grinned, showing off those damn dimples.

He had sucked this man's cock. It seemed so strange to think about now, with time ticking off the game clock and the sweet scents of baking and warm sugar all around them, but he'd done it. And he'd _enjoyed_ it.

Hell, he almost couldn't wait to do it again. And if Chuck still wanted him after the show, Raleigh fully intended to let him fuck him. Or make love to him, if that was the terminology the kid preferred.

How had this entire experience gone so far awry? He'd just wanted -- _needed_ \-- the prize money. He hadn't expected anything else to come of it. He didn't even want to rejoin the competition circuit. Just to win this one and go back to his life from before the fire, to those times between shows where it was just him and Yancy and a restaurant full of happy customers.

"Thinking awful hard over there, precious."

A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Just pondering life's vicissitudes."

Ginger eyebrows rose, but the big jerk didn't call him on using an unexpected ten-dollar word. "You always were the poetic one."

The grin turned to a smirk. "Because I'm the romantic one. Remember?"

Right on cue, Chuck rolled his eyes. "Oh, my God, not Nobu _again."_

The audience chuckled, Chau snickered, and Raleigh went back to his reduction with a smile on his face. He was becoming very fond of bickering with Chuck Hansen.

And though he rarely allowed himself to think about the future these days, for the next fifteen minutes, he let himself consider the possibility of several such chances to come.


	25. Chapter 25

Tendo didn't give them a moment alone this time around. Instead, he eyed them suspiciously over the handheld, practically daring them to do something inappropriate now that they were done cooking.

They didn't, though. They just leaned on the high table, shoulder to shoulder. Raleigh grinned a bit, remembering doing the same with Mako. It seemed like ages ago, but it had only been a few hours.

"Chef Becket?"

He followed the tech up the hall and took his place in front of the judges. Thankfully, no one smirked or waggled eyebrows, and even Newt just gestured for him to do his thing.

It was almost over. Really, this time. Even if they tied.

"For dessert, I made you each a cherimoya filo tart with a brandy-sage reduction glaze."

 Well-used to his short and to-the-point descriptions by now, Gottlieb just nodded and eyed the dish. Chau already had his fork in hand and seemed impatient at all the delay.

Sasha, though, tipped him a slightly crooked grin that looked nothing like her sharp-as-a-blade smiles from earlier in the day. "Sage."

He couldn't help but grin back. "It hasn't failed me yet."

Chuckling, she waved him away, so he bowed and took his leave. Chuck greeted him with a grin but said nothing as they awaited his turn. They just stood close together.

But for all that it was as surprisingly comfortable as standing with Mako, this closeness felt completely different. With Mako, the light contact had been about support, about comfort. Solidarity, maybe.

This, though. This closeness was about... intimacy. Attraction. Anticipation. About what they'd already done together and would do when this was all over.

About promises to keep. About miles to go before they sleep.

"Chef Hansen?"

He watched on the monitor as Chuck strolled out in front of the judges. They waited as patiently as they had for him, no taunting or eyebrow waggling in evidence. This was the end, after all. Just this one last thing.

"Right. What you've got there is a cherimoya cream custard in a butter graham crust and peanut butter madeleines with rosewater."

Damn. The pairing sounded amazing. Competition or no, Raleigh sort of wanted a serving for himself. It was anyone's guess which dessert the judges would prefer.

So, when Chuck strolled back in, he was able to greet the kid with a grin. "No chocolate?"

Smirking, the big dork joined him, shoulder-checking him gently. "With peanut butter? Absolutely. With weird banana/pineapple fruit? No thanks, mate."

They were quiet a minute, but it wasn't uncomfortable. They were just waiting, the tension of the competition strangely absent.

Then: "Have you really been working construction all these years?"

His eyebrows rose, and he looked to make sure Chuck wasn't giving him shit. From this close, though, he couldn't miss the simple curiosity in those big gray eyes. So, he shrugged and nodded. He wasn't ashamed of it, and it wasn't like there was a whole lot of cooking to be done with the restaurant scraped down to the foundation or rebuilt whole as an empty husk.

The kid frowned slightly. "I was pissed about that at first. Dunno if you caught that or not."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I was too busy catching all the other things you were pissed at me about."

"Wanker." Another gentle shoulder-check. "I'm being serious, here."

"Sorry." But he knew he didn't look terribly apologetic.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I was pretty stoked at first, yeah? Here's a bloke that comes from nowhere, but he's beat four Iron Chefs in a row. Here, finally, was a real challenge." Those pretty gray eyes met his own, the amusement fading. "But he's been fucking about in construction the past five years, his talent going to rot." He shook his head. "Figured you'd be so rusty you'd catch your stupid jumper on fire straight off."

He had no idea what to say. He wasn't sure if he should be amused or annoyed. Or both in equal measure.

"And the judges fucking _loved_ you. The audience got behind you right from the start. And they were right to. You're an amazing chef, mate. Fucking brilliant."

Okay, maybe a little flattered, but he still wasn't sure where this was headed, so he reserved judgment.

"And to top it off, you're a snarky bastard who took none of my shit, and you fight like a champion street boxer, and... fuck, love, your fucking _mouth...."_

He frowned a little, again not sure if he was being baited or complimented. "Not really sure what you're getting at, kid."

With a huff, Chuck quirked a crooked smirk. "That's because I'm making a right botch of it."

He rolled his eyes and nudged the big dork in the ribs. "Just spit it out. They'll be calling us any minute."

Oddly, he just nodded, as serious as he'd been all day. "I just... mate, I don't give a shit about the prize money. I'm rich as fuck from all these stupid competitions and all the paid appearances."

Raleigh blinked.

"I came here looking for a _challenge,_ Raleigh." The serious look softened, but not quite enough to be a smile yet. "And you are the biggest challenge I've ever come up against, yeah? And I don't want that to just... be over."

He did not want to read anything into that statement. He didn't have the luxury of thinking about the future. Not past tonight and potential prize money, anyway. Anything else was... out of reach.

"Not after the show. Not in the morning. Not when you go back to fucking Alaska and I go back to Australia to help my old man run the bakery until I get the urge to compete again."

That was... it sounded like... he didn't... could they really--

A knock at the door. "Chefs?"

Chuck sighed and looked away. Raleigh blinked, not sure what to do or say. The kid had just pretty much laid himself bare, and he had no idea how to respond.

Absurdly, he found himself looking to Tendo, as if the show's producer could possibly give him any advice.

"Just so you know, I won't be able to use any of that." Indeed, the handheld wasn't even up where it could be of any use. "I could've made a Lifetime Movie of the Week out of that footage alone, but it's completely useless because you two are supposed to have already dated."

He wanted to laugh, but he just couldn't. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. Chuck just huffed and stood away from the table. Away from Raleigh's side.

"Yeah, it's a real fucking shame for _you,_ mate."

The kid started away. He couldn't let that happen.

"Chuck?"

The broad shoulders slumped, the ginger head lowering. "Forget it, mate." He turned his head enough for Raleigh to see a hint of dimple from a small, weak smile. "My old man always said if you have a shot, you take it." Even the hint faded. "'Course, he also said I have shit timing."

Again, the kid started away.

"Chuck."

This time, the shoulders went up instead of down. Admittedly, Raleigh's tone was pretty sharp.

So, he softened it. "Win or lose."

That got a quarter-turn and a full-on, narrow-eyed glare. Which, because Raleigh had clearly lost all of his good sense, pulled a slow Grinch smirk from God knew where.

"Win or lose... _yes."_

Ginger eyebrows rose, that luscious mouth -- God, had those lips really been around his cock not so long ago? -- flirting with those damn dimples. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." The smirk deepened as he stood away from the table and stalked closer. "We may _actually_ be exes the next time we compete, but we're gonna by God take a shot in the meantime."

Tendo gave up on the camera entirely through the lengthy, messy kiss that followed.


	26. Chapter 26

Before Newt could so much as clap his hands or assume his ubiquitous carnival huckster pose, Chau leaned over the table and pointed forcefully at both chefs in turn.

"You two clownshoes are hereby banned from being on opposite sides of a competition ever again."

They both blinked, but Gottlieb only rolled his eyes. "You have no way of realistically enforcing that dictate, Mr. Chau."

"Don't care." Leaning back, the goggled weirdo shook his head. "I'll find a way."

Nervous now, though he genuinely hadn't been before, he exchanged a glance with Chuck, who shrugged. "Uh... did we do something wrong?"

Gottlieb grinned a bit. "No, son. You both did something very, very right. Mr. Chau is only irritated because we came quite close to having an absolutely unheard-of tie, yet again."

Holding up his thumb and forefinger pinched so close together that they basically touched, Chau grunted. "This close."

"...Oh." He glanced at Chuck again, only to see another shrug. "Okay?"

"Cherimoya filo tart, Chef Becket." Grinning crookedly, Gottlieb shook his head. "You always throw in a surprise, don't you? You knew the creaminess of the fruit would soften the bite of that little dash of curry, which would, in turn, enhance the other, more traditional, baking spices. And the peanut butter between the crispy, delicate filo layers?" He shook his head again. "But the brandy-sage glaze... just... I am almost offended by your skill, son. It was perfection, as always."

Blushing, he shrugged. "I like to think I wouldn't cook anything I wouldn't eat myself?"

Chau huffed. Sasha curved one of her sharp smiles. Gottlieb rolled his eyes.

"And Chef Hansen, your custard was, frankly, obscenely good. As were the madeleines. Using rosewater instead of a more traditional orange blossom water as an aromatic? It beautifully enhanced the peanut flavor, the buttery richness of the cake... everything. Do you two have any idea how difficult you've made this entire contest?"

Grinning a bit, Chuck nudged his elbow against Raleigh's.

Newt, practically vibrating out of his skin, jumped in. "In the end, it literally came down to a single point. I'm not even kidding. You two are one lousy point apart."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Just tell us, already. Jesus."

"You never let me have any fun."

"Newton!"

Probably a bad sign when even the judges wanted done with the drama. Sighing, Geiszler took ahold of the ring at the top of the metal cover.

_Win or lose. Win or lose. Win or--_

Custard. Madeleines.

_...Wait, what?_

"Chef Hansen, by the thinnest of margins, you've been... cut. Chef Becket, you are our winner."

Unable to process, he stared at Chuck's dessert. He'd been so sure -- no, so _afraid_ \-- it would be his that his eyes refused to accept the evidence before him.

He... won. He won?

"Raleigh, mate, you all right?"

He turned toward the touch on his upper arm. Chuck didn't look upset. He looked concerned.

Tentatively, Raleigh tried to smile. "Did I just win?"

Chuck's smile was much more effective. "You did."

"And you're okay with that?"

A snort. "With losing by one lousy point?"

Sasha cleared her throat. "Apologies, Little Hansen. That was mine." Indeed, she looked as sheepish as a glorious Russian ice queen could look. "Little Becket used both ingredients in one dessert. You did not. That is only reason."

The kid nodded consideringly. "I can see that." Smiling again, he turned back to Raleigh. "So yeah, mate. I'm okay with that. You won." He tapped the back of his hand against Raleigh's abs. "You get to reopen your mum's restaurant, yeah?"

His eyes widened. "I won."

Damn those dimples. "You won."

Holy shit. It was all really happening. The fog lifted, and he suddenly felt ready to fly around the room. "I won!"

Chuck, laughing, reached down and hefted him up off the floor by the backs of his thighs. "You won!"

Clinging to the kid's broad shoulders for dear life, he looked for Yancy in the audience, only to find everyone standing and applauding. Jesus. A standing ovation.

And Yance... was damn near crying, but he was also smiling like the sunrise, so Raleigh figured it was probably okay.

Opening their restaurant. Getting laid. Trying out a relationship. Yesterday, none of those things were even an option. Today?

He wrapped his arms around Chuck's head, probably smothering the poor guy but unable to help himself. Luckily, the kid got the hint and let him slide back down until his feet were back on the floor.

He wasn't crying. It was a damn near thing, and he doubted Chuck would give him shit about it, but he'd always been an ugly crier, and he didn't want that on national television.

The kiss, he didn't mind so much.

The applause went on.

What a fucking day.


	27. Chapter 27

"So, tell me straight, Ray." Chuck should walk around with just a towel around his waist all the time. It was a very good look for him. "That blowjob earlier. It was your first one, yeah?"

Blushing and scratching at the back of his head, he wished he'd taken his shower first. Though he was fully clothed -- he'd even put his sweater back on; once they left the heat of the studio, he'd been almost immediately cold from the temperature difference -- he felt far more naked than the guy in the towel.

"Not the first one I've received."

Leaning against the bathroom's doorjamb, Chuck crossed his arms. "But the first one you've given."

It wasn't a question, so Raleigh just shrugged and stuffed his free hand in his jeans pocket.

"You've not done much else, then, have you?" A slight grin. "With a bloke, anyway."

Never mind. If he'd taken a shower already, he'd just need another one. He was sweating with the force of his blush. Maybe he should take off the damn sweater, after all.

Softening from his serious expression, the kid came over to stand just in reach. "Guess it's a good job you won, then. You'll be a lot more comfortable topping your first time with a man."

He swallowed hard and shook his head. "I want you to do it."

Ginger eyebrows rose.

Fighting off his embarrassment, he nodded. "I want to know how it feels before I ask to do it to someone else." Ducking his head a bit, he tried for a grin. "To you."

Those big hands reached out and stroked up and down his arms. "You really are a contrary bastard, y'know?"

Somehow, he managed a quick glance up and grin before he returned his gaze to Chuck's belly button. And the light fuzz of ginger hair over the firm abs. And the freckles, of course.

"You sure?"

He nodded.

Chuck pulled him closer, then kissed his forehead. That was not a move he'd expected, and it made him feel....

"Go on, then. Get your shower. I'm ordering room service because I refuse to cook anything for the next month but I'm fucking starving."

Snorting, he finally managed to actually look at the big jerk who would shortly be his... lover? Boyfriend? Both?

Chuck Hansen, whether smirking like a precocious kid or grinning like the angel he most certainly wasn't, was goddamn gorgeous.

So, Raleigh leaned in for a kiss that was easily given and didn't complain when the big jerk smacked him on the ass to get him headed toward the bathroom. It was hard enough to sting a little, but he didn't mind. In fact, he smirked, shrugged out of his sweater, and tossed it back over his shoulder, deliberately slinging it at the kid's face.

His aim, as usual, was perfect.

"Oi!"

Safe behind the closed door of the bathroom, he let himself slump. The day had been approximately ten years long, and it still wasn't over yet. Admittedly, this next part should be the dessert at the end of a complicated and messy dinner, but he still had a few miles to go before he could sleep.

Hot water, then. He wanted his arm and shoulder nice and loose. It had held up well under the stress, but he had no intention of letting his old injuries ruin his fun. He couldn't do anything about how the scars looked, but other than staring for a good, long time when he'd first taken the sweater off, Chuck didn't seem to mind them.

He cleaned himself as best he knew how and blamed the resulting blush on the heat of the shower. He knew the basics, anyway, and knew that if he were on the other side, he'd be appreciative of the effort. He just... didn't want to think about it too much.

Then, he dried off, scruffed a towel through his hair, debated brushing his teeth, and settled for a glass of water instead. He probably should have drank a lot more over the course of the day, but bathroom breaks had been in relatively short supply. Plus, the bathroom for the waiting room was right there, and it was weird for all the other people in the room to know what you were doing, even if it was just taking a leak.

Whatever. Not important.

So, flushed pink with his hair a damp mess and a towel around his hips, he stepped back into Chuck's hotel room -- because he and Yancy had shared theirs, and... no -- and grinned at the weirdly homey sight of the big, ginger dork sprawled back on the bed against the headboard, towel still in place, flipping through channels on the hotel's cable access.

"Just so you know, I'm not in the mood to watch Food Network tonight."

The kid looked over at him and grinned, even as his eyes lowered to take in everything the towel didn't cover. "Me, neither. And before you ask, no, I wasn't looking for the porn channel."

Snickering, he crawled into the king-sized bed and tried not to lose his towel as he got comfortable, mirroring Chuck's casual sprawl. "There's only one? I seem to remember there being, like, a dozen, but it's been a while."

Chuck snorted, then settled on a movie channel and tossed aside the remote. "I hope you like steak, because I ordered filet mignon for us both. I got us each a different side, though. I reckon we can decide who gets which when they bring it up."

His eyebrows went up. "I'm a much cheaper date than that."

But the kid just shrugged. "I'm in the mood to treat." Those pretty gray eyes met his. "Don't reckon you've been treated a lot these past few years, mate."

He didn't want to feel melty and flattered, but he couldn't help it. "That's not your fault. You don't have to make up the slack."

But at that, the big dork just grinned, all the seriousness gone in a flash of dimples. "Better get used to it, love. I'm a stubborn bastard, and I do what I like."

Rolling his eyes, Raleigh was tempted to make a lame joke about doing _him,_ but he was saved by a knock at the door. Room service had arrived.

Probably for the best. No sense chasing the guy away with what even Yancy lovingly admitted was a terrible sense of humor.

Besides. Dinner was served, and he hadn't eaten more than the occasional taste-test nibble all day.

He was pretty sure the blowjob didn't count.


	28. Chapter 28

Raleigh wasn't nervous. His stomach was a little roily because he'd eaten too much. That was all.

"You look nervous, love."

Dammit.

"We don't have to--"

_"Chuck."_

Subsiding, Chuck grinned softly and turned to lay on his side, propping his head on his hand to look down at him. "Nothing you don't want, Raleigh. I mean that."

Well, he could be sappy and considerate, too. So he grinned. "Good thing I want _you,_ huh?

The big dork snorted but leaned down to kiss him readily enough. Raleigh was fully on board for as much kissing as Chuck wanted to dole out. He'd been more than okay with the aggressive, almost desperate kisses during the show, but he unashamedly loved how, when Chuck slowed down and took his time, it felt like time slowed down with him. For all his obnoxious snark and arrogance, the kid was a phenominal kisser.

He also loved the feel of that big, heavy hand on his chest, on his throat, on his stomach. He didn't care where it went because it left a warm, tingling feeling deep in his skin wherever it roamed. Before long, he scooted closer to the rest of that warm bulk, wanting more of it. Wanting Chuck to blanket him with all that skin.

He didn't even mind the chest hair.

"So damn pretty, Raleigh." Sighing, Chuck leaned up enough to look down at him with hazy eyes, stroking a thumb over his cheek. "You didn't look bad yesterday, but when you showed up this morning all scrubbed and shaved and with the blue of your jumper making your eyes look like the goddamn ocean, I'd never wanted anything more in my life."

Thank God he was already a bit flushed from too much good food and from their kisses. "Chuck, I looked like a trash hobo yesterday. Even Yancy said I should at least shave before going to the meeting."

A snort. "A construction jock fresh off the job, yes. A trash hobo, no." Shaking his head, the kid ran his hand down Raleigh's throat to his shoulder. "And when you took off your jumper...."

His grin turned crooked, and not in an entirely good way. "Yes, because panic attacks and burn scars are so sexy."

The heavy hand squeezed gently. "Not gonna lie, mate. The scars did catch my attention first." Chuck's eyes didn't falter. "But since they drew my attention to how fucking cut you are, I honestly didn't mind." Light fingers traced over the worst scarring. "Once I looked, it was hard to _stop_ looking."

Was he holding his breath? Because it felt like he was holding his breath. Waiting for the kid to say the wrong thing, maybe.

But those light fingers just kept tracing the old damage, gentle and sure. "Does it still hurt?"

"Sometimes." It was barely a whisper. "That shoulder doesn't like changes in barometric pressure."

Gray eyes narrowed. "Does it bother you when you're working construction?"

He didn't shrug. He didn't want those gentle fingers to stop touching him. "If I overwork, yeah."

Ginger eyebrows drew together in a frown. The gentle touch firmed. "But you kept at it anyway."

It wasn't a question, so he didn't answer beyond a sad hint of a smile. Of course he kept at it. Yancy's physical therapy and skin grafts wouldn't pay for themselves. Nor would the restaurant until they actually had it back open.

Chuck clearly wanted to say something else -- a rebuke? an order not to overwork anymore? neither? both? -- but he shook his head and leaned down for more kisses instead. Better. Better still, that big body leaned more heavily against his, Chuck's hand sliding down to gently grip his hip. It'd be better if the towel was gone, but Raleigh figured they'd get there soon enough.

Murmuring softly against his lips, his soon-to-be lover traced his thumb along the line of his iliac furrow. "Not gonna ask you not to push yourself like that anymore, love. Don't reckon it's in your nature to take it easy."

Despite how very interested he was in getting that thumb to stroke a lot more bare skin than it currently was, he found himself grinning. "Guilty as charged."

Chuck rewarded him with a wry grin and a tug at the towel. "Just... promise you'll let me take care of you when I can, yeah? When I'm with you?"

Oh, yes. That big, heavy hand slid over enough to palm his cock through the towel. His entire body took immediate interest.

A little breathless now, he huffed. "Well. Twist my arm."

Chuck snickered, and the heaviness between them vanished. Since Chuck didn't seem to be in a hurry, Raleigh arched up enough to shed the damn towel. Also enough to feel that the big jerk wasn't exactly uninterested, either. When he lay back down, he was rewarded with an honest-to-God stroke, and any remaining hesitation went out the window.

"So fucking gorgeous."

It was a bare whisper before Chuck gave him a breath-stealing kiss and shifted to lay over him. Eager now, Raleigh sprawled his legs open so he could arch up against all that muscle more easily. He loved the feel of it against him, over him. He loved it shifting under his hands as he stroked Chuck's flexing back. And that ass. God, he loved the feel of that fantastic ass in his hands.

Chuck's towel had to go.

Smirking into the increasingly deep kisses, he bit sharply at Chuck's lower lip, then rolled them until the kid was on his back. Straddling narrow hips, he knelt up just enough to work the tucked edge of the towel loose and pull it open. Chuck moaned a soft sound between their open mouths as Raleigh lowered himself back down, breath catching at the new and _fucking awesome_ sensation of a heavy, hard cock brushing against his own.

He needed that again. He needed that a thousand times again.

Groaning, he sealed his mouth over Chuck's and rolled his hips. The satiny, taut skin of that glorious cock slid sensuously against his, the pressure sweet but nowhere near enough. Even when Chuck grabbed his ass and arched his hips, it wasn't enough. Going on pure instinct, he reached down and took them both in hand -- not an easy feat, considering that intimidating girth -- and stroked as best he could.

Better. So fucking much better. Almost just right.

"Chuck... I need...."

But he didn't know what he needed. He thought maybe Chuck did, though, because the kid let go of his ass with one hand to paw over the coverlet toward the end table against the bed. Breaking the liplock and cursing, the poor guy leaned hard that way, reaching for whatever the hell he wanted. Taking advantage of the stretch, Raleigh tasted the long line of the kid's neck, sucking at the straining tendon. He didn't want to leave a hickey. Just... the big jerk tasted so good, and the feel of such strong flesh against his mouth....

Fuck it. He'd leave hickeys if he damn well wanted to. Lower, though. No sense risking embarrassment for both of them later. He'd never hear the end of it from Yancy.

Before he'd quite managed to latch onto one of those broad shoulders, though, he remembered how sensitive his own nipples were and smirked.

Still stretching for whatever he'd left on the nightstand -- lube? condoms? -- Chuck gasped and arched as Raleigh gave a good, solid suck. He didn't bite -- he wasn't sure he'd like even a hint of actual pain there himself, so he'd have to remember to ask later if that was a thing Chuck liked -- but he definitely treated the little nub to his full attention.

It seemed Chuck liked it as much as Raleigh did.

"Fuck me, love, I need a moment here."

Flicking his tongue, he squeezed his hand just so around them both.

"Fuck! Dammit, Raleigh, we are not doing this dry!"

Ah. Lube. Pulling back, he smirked down at his grumpy but flushed boyfriend -- it was okay to call him that now, right? -- and immediately had to kiss those swollen lips. The bottom one, especially, where he'd nipped him earlier.

But he didn't want to slow things down any more than he already had, so he pulled away just long enough to reach over and snatch the little bottle of lube, then sat back on the kid's thighs. Grinning, he held the bottle up and waggled it. Chuck rolled his eyes and took it, then sat up and started to scoot back against the headboard, pulling Raleigh with him with the hand still on his ass.

When they settled, Chuck leaned up for an almost chaste kiss, despite their hard-ons pressed together between them and the fact that Raleigh was straddling his lap.

"It feels weird at first."

Probably so, but he was ready for it. For more. More kissing, especially.

"If you don't like it, we'll stop, yeah?" But Chuck's voice was finally a bit strained, his grip tightening. "We'll try something else." Another kiss. "Or we'll switch, because as long as you're not being a domineering, alpha-male fuckwit, I will fucking _love_ it."

He grinned into the increasing ardor of those kisses, but he was relieved to know that this was something Chuck liked being on the receiving end of. He didn't see someone as self-confident as Chuck Hansen letting anyone do anything that hurt or made him feel... lesser than.

So, he just rolled his hips a bit and moaned softly, and Chuck got the hint. The bottle clicked open.

"It'll be cold--"

"Oh, my God, Chuck!" Sitting back fully, he threw up his hands. "Will you just get to fucking me, already? Before I die of old age?"

Astonished, the poor guy stared at him for a moment, then broke into a ridiculous belly laugh. "You cheeky fuck."

Snickering himself, he poked the jerk in the chest. "At least you know what you're in for." Laying his hand flat on the hard curve of that broad chest, he sobered up a bit. "I'm not gonna break, Chuck."

Also sobering, the kid stroked a hand -- soothingly, Raleigh thought -- up and down his thigh. "More worried you'll walk away, if I'm honest." Quirking a complex grin, he shrugged. "That you won't like it and won't want anything to do with me after."

In a jolting moment of clarity, he abruptly realized that, though Chuck was far more experienced in sex with a man, he was barely out of his teens, chronologically speaking. Twenty-one? Twenty-two, at most? And they had only met yesterday and hadn't exactly hit it off from the start, and the poor guy must think that if the sex broke bad, Raleigh would have no reason to stay.

_Oh, Chuck._

Smiling softly, he threaded his fingers into messy ginger hair and gently, slowly kissed the beautiful brat that had somehow fallen into his life. He might not know much about gay sex, but he damn well knew how to be intimate.

"You are an outstanding chef." Another kiss. "You have the meanest left hook I've ever taken to the face." Another kiss, and he felt Chuck's full lips curve on a grin. "You give amazing blowjobs." Another kiss, despite the snicker and the feel of those heavy hands settling on his ass again. "And you make me laugh, even when I kinda want to punch you."

Pulling back just far enough to meet those gorgeous gray eyes, he reached for the forgotten bottle of lube and slid it between his skin and Chuck's fingers. The kid's expression was a lot less complex this time around.

Good. So he smirked.

"If I don't like the feel of that monster dick in my ass, we'll deal with it."

Chuck snickered and shook his head.

"But that doesn't mean I won't want _you._ Okay?"

A nod. "Okay."

Relieved, he let the moment draw out. Then, because he really did have a terrible sense of humor, he smirked again.

"Now that that's settled, let's get with the fucking, already."

"You are such a wanker."

Smirking, he squirmed a bit in the kid's lap. "Still not fucking."

"All right, all right. Jesus."


	29. Chapter 29

So a cool, slick finger in his ass did, indeed, feel weird.

Not _bad,_ per se. But not as good as, say, his cock in Chuck's mouth. Unfortunately, since he was currently straddling Chuck's lap, he had to settle for his tongue instead. Chuck, good guy that he was, dutifully sucked on it.

The cool, slick finger pulled out and stroked around, nerves Raleigh had never even guessed existed tingling to life at the touch. When it slid gently back in, it didn't feel quite so weird. Or so cool, which probably helped.

"Fuck, love, you are way too tight. We need to relax you a bit, yeah? Last thing I wanna do is hurt you."

He didn't protest as Chuck scooted them both down the bed and rolled him to his back. In this, he had no problem following his more experienced partner's lead. Plus, as soon as he was comfortable, said partner kissed him lightly, winked, and slid down his body until he was eye to eye with his dick.

As it turned out, a warmer slick finger in his ass felt just fine when paired with a slow, lingering lick from balls to tip. Oh, and a gentle little suck that made him twitch.

"Let me take care of you?"

He was pretty sure his response didn't contain actual words, but Chuck was no one's idiot and understood an obvious affirmative when he heard it. That glorious, talented mouth went to work with a slow, determined will, distracting from but not completely masking that lone finger's movements. It didn't hurt at all, which was a relief. It didn't feel good yet, either, but he thought... maybe it could.

That mouth, though. Jesus.

Then, an equally slick -- though mercifully warm -- thumb rubbed gently at a spot just behind his balls, and that felt--

"Fuck, do that again."

Chuckling, which caused a deep, throaty moan, the big jerk complied, and _fuck,_ it felt good.

"That would be your prostate, precious." The smug bastard rolled his tongue around the head of Raleigh's cock and stroked there again, sending a low wave of warm tingles all through him. "Wait 'til you feel it from the inside."

"Oh, fuck."

Chuckling again and taking him deeper into his mouth, the big jerk pulled his finger out enough to tease with the tips of two. Raleigh tensed, bracing himself, but Chuck just teased those sensitive nerves for a while, occasionally drawing his thumb over that crazy spot. He couldn't help but relax, even as the stroking fingertips pressed just inside.

Groaning -- the vibrations would be the death of him; put it on his death certificate -- the kid pulled back enough to sigh over the sensitive skin of his aching cock. "So fucking tight, love. God, you feel so fucking good."

Honestly, though the stretch as those fingers pressed just that much further in stung a little, it felt... interesting, too. The sting blended with the tingling and the rush of warmth that washed up through him every time that merciless thumb rolled over his prostate until it all felt....

Moaning something that mostly sounded like, "Nnnnn...", he shifted his hips to feel more of the pressure stretching him. Chuck obliged, easing back to press a little further in. It still felt weird. No other way to put it.

But it also felt good, even as he couldn't help tensing up again.

"Chuck...."

Humming a question -- _oh, fuck, don't do that with my cock in your throat_ \-- Chuck withdrew his fingers.

Not what he wanted.

Something perilously close to a whine caught in his throat, and he shifted again. "No, more. Fuck, babe, I need... just... _more."_

More of that stretching pressure. More of the weird sensation of something inside him.

But he didn't know how to say it.

Chuck lifted his head, sucking all the way, until he could tilt up enough to look Raleigh in the eye. Oh, sweet Jesus, those lips around his cock, the force of those intense eyes on him....

Another near-whine escaped him. Watching him intently, Chuck slowly pressed those two slick fingers in, not stopping but being incredibly gentle, until the stretch around the second knuckles brought a gasp from Raleigh's throat.

Dropping his head back, he managed to whisper, "Don't stop."

Thank God, but Chuck didn't. The feeling was indescribable. Stroking even as they pressed deeper, those two fingers felt like everything he hadn't even realized he'd been missing. And when they rolled over what he knew could only be his prostate, but from the inside this time--

"Jesus, Chuck, again, please again--"

Even if he somehow didn't like the feel of an actual cock inside him -- at the moment, he seriously fucking doubted he'd hate the sensation -- Raleigh Becket vowed on his soul that he would beg for Chuck Hansen's fingers any chance he got. Drawing his knees up so fast he almost kneed the poor guy in the head, he bucked his hips against that amazing, mind-blowing feeling.

Chuckling because he was an evil bastard, Chuck pulled off his cock entirely and _wiggled his fucking fingers._ Any vocabulary Raleigh might have still had fled away on an inarticulate string of noises.

"More?"

God, he hoped the sound he made counted as a yes.

Apparently, it did, because in a brain-softening combination of gentle thrusting and all the goddamn wiggling, Chuck proceeded to turn him inside out. He realized in a vague and distant way that the fingers inside him were spreading apart with each pass, and he even knew why, but he did not care an iota. He could've been sticking his fingers in his own ass this whole time, and if he could ever feel anything but a stretching, full, nerve-zinging bliss again, he'd be pissed that no one ever told him.

But that was for later. Right now, Chuck was lovingly assaulting his prostate with all the competitive arrogance that had allowed them to convincingly fake being ex-lovers. If Raleigh didn't want to kiss the smug bastard's feet for how he currently felt, he'd probably kick the jerk in the head.

Even when the beautiful asshole slowed his movements enough to tease with a third finger -- never so lost to being a prick that he'd just shove in without making sure Raleigh was okay with it -- he smirked and leaned down to nibble his lips at his aching, straining cock. Jesus, it was like torture, except he never wanted it to stop.

He hissed in a gasp when that third finger slid in all the way, but he arched his hips into it to keep Chuck from stopping because fucking hell, the stretch stung more -- a lot more, actually -- but made him want all of it. All of Chuck. Not just his fingers.

He was so blissed out that he didn't realize he was on the verge of coming until Chuck swallowed him down and there it was, seeming to radiate up from that singing bundle of nerves and spread all through him. Every draw of that hot, sucking mouth as Chuck drank him down sent another roll of honey-thick pleasure burning up through him, those fingers not even slowing as he cried out from the intensity of it.

"So fucking gorgeous when you're coming for me, love."

It was a low, thrumming vocalization murmured right into the crease of his groin, and it sent another shiver of ecstasy through him. He definitely still felt those miraculous fingers inside him, gently stretching though they carefully avoided his prostate now, but it all felt... distant. Not unimportant, because he very much wanted Chuck's cock in him, so he needed to be relaxed enough to take him, but... floaty. Dreamlike.

He chuckled low in his throat. "In case I forget to say it later, that one's a keeper."

Without removing his hand, Chuck dragged his way up Raleigh's body to lie next to him, an obscenity of riches with those eyes and those long ginger eyelashes and those flushed, swollen lips. Freckles. _Dimples._

"What one's that, love?"

Feeling drunk, he smiled slow and sleepily. "Literally everything you just did. Are still doing. Whatever."

Oh, Jesus, now the gorgeous bastard was smirking. "Liked that, did you?"

"Hmm." He stretched luxuriously, not-so-subtly arching his hips against the fingers still gently stretching him inside. "I am one hundred percent in favor of getting fucked any time you want."

So smug. "You haven't seen the whole show yet, precious."

Just for that, he reached down and stroked that ridiculous cock. The smug vanished like a fart in the wind, and Chuck let his forehead thunk down onto Raleigh's as he shuddered out a sigh. Poor kid had to damn near be suffering blue balls at this point.

"Pretty sure I'll like the ending."

"Raleigh--"

"Still not getting fucked, babe."

A huff of a laugh that cut off at another stroke. "Fuck, mate, you're still too sensitive to--"

_Stroooooooooke._

Whimpering, Chuck hefted away enough to paw around for the bottle of lube. Unfortunately, he had to take those magic fingers back to reach over further for a condom from the nightstand, but he was back soon enough, settling between Raleigh's thighs, blanketing him with heat and muscle. Finally able to work his limbs again, Raleigh wrapped that big body up in his arms and drew his knees up again.

A very large, very irresponsible part of him wanted to see how that throbbing, heavy cock would feel without a condom between them, but he didn't say so. This wasn't the best time to ask whether or not the kid was disease-ridden. Besides, they'd both already agreed on safe sex.

Dammit. Maybe next time.

Jesus, there would actually be a next time. Unless something went so disastrously wrong that they couldn't stand the sight of each other in the morning, they were... dating. Or at least not just having casual sex. Hell, they'd talked earlier about Chuck flying back with him and Yancy to Alaska for a few days before rejoining his father in Australia because he'd visit, but no way in hell was he full-on moving to the fucking White Wastes.

All that muscled bulk pulled away so Chuck could roll on the condom and stroke on a heavy layer of lube, and then those amazing fingers were in him again, stroking right up and over his prostate, though gently. A good thing, too, because the sensation shot right to his cock, which was still damn sensitive from his orgasm.

"Jesus, Chuck...."

"Hn." The big body settled back over him, a little off to one side. "Tell me when it's not too much."

He didn't care. He wanted it. Now.

Nudging with his thigh, he tried to urge the big jerk back to where he wanted him, then reached down to tug away those tormenting, teasing fingers. "Now, Chuck. Please?"

A butterfly kiss, so light it almost wasn't even real. "If you need me to stop...."

"I'll tell you. _Please,_ babe."

Shuddering, all that muscle tense from holding back, Chuck bit his lip and reached down to guide himself in. Even just the head pressing against those singing nerves felt like nirvana. Moaning low in his throat, he shifted his hips, wanting more of it. Wanting it inside.

Fuck, the stretch of it... the heat... Chuck's panting breaths on his neck from where he was trying so hard not to just shove all the way in.

"More, Chuck, please--"

"Fuck, love, I'm afraid I'll come halfway in, you're so fucking tight--"

The head slipped all the way in, and they both cried out at the feel of it. After, it seemed like the rest just slowly sucked in without any effort from either of them, though Raleigh knew that couldn't possibly be true. It took several thrusts to reach the full length, for one thing. And the stretch was... fuck, it wasn't painless, but it felt so fucking... perfect, so _right._ Chuck murmured wordless pleas or promises or bald fucking lies against his throat, trembling at what Raleigh could only imagine was the exquisite heat and tight grip inside him.

Those murmurs slowly devolved to a breathless repeating of his name, over and over again. Desperate for more even when he wasn't quite used to what he already had yet, Raleigh reached down to get two handfuls of that glorious ass and arch his hips, silently begging for the next thing. Shuddering again, Chuck pulled away the tiniest bit and thrust back in.

Jesus. The depth was insane. He felt even that minute thrust all the way up his spine. It wasn't even the drag of that heated length against his prostate, though that was a veritable sunburst of sensation, but just the sheer... Chuck was _inside_ him. He'd let Chuck inside, and he fucking loved it. He loved that it hurt a little and would probably hurt more later. He loved that the kid just rolled his hips so Raleigh could feel that fat head move so damn deep inside him.

But when Chuck actually pulled himself together enough for an actual thrust? To pull back far enough for the head to tease his prostate on the way out, then shove right back over it on the way back in? To feel that heavy cock all the way through him with Chuck's full weight behind it?

Fuck. _Fuck._ Every nerve in his body flared to life, and he was instantly hard as a rock all over again, already within an ace of coming like the Judgment.

"Oh, God, Chuck, don't fucking stop doing that."

Another thrust, and Chuck braced his knees a little further apart and let fucking loose. Hard and fast and so close together that Raleigh couldn't distinguish one from the next. His prostate was a ball of lightning inside him, flaring through him with every stroke in and out. His fingers clung to the flexing muscle of Chuck's ass, hauling him forward with each thrust as if he could take that big body even further inside him.

"Raleigh... Raleigh... fuck, already gonna... fuck, love, feels so...."

The litany stuttered to a halt, and Chuck desperately reached between them with the hand he'd used to lubricate himself. Raleigh's cock was still so goddamn sensitive from his first climax that two slick strokes had him locking up all over again. Chuck cried out and jerked forward, hard, coming from the sudden clench.

They clung together almost violently, the grip on his cock brutal until Chuck suddenly let go and wrapped both arms under Raleigh's back, almost crushing him around the ribs, his face buried in Raleigh's throat. In turn, Raleigh wrapped his arms around broad shoulders and his legs around narrow hips and hung on for dear life. He felt... cast adrift. The second orgasm was much stronger than the first, and it left him feeling dizzy and disoriented, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Chuck was right here, after all, holding him like he felt the same way. Like they were the last two solid objects in the universe and couldn't bear to let go.

Perfect. Scary and all-consuming and mind-blowing, but perfect.

His grip slowly, slowly loosened until he just held that big body instead of clinging to it. Chuck took a little longer, his cock still hard and full a lot longer than Raleigh expected, but eventually, the crushing bearhug eased, little nibbling kisses at his throat clueing him in that Chuck had ahold of himself again.

He sighed almost sadly when that beautiful cock finally softened enough to slip out and Chuck had to shift aside to strip the condom off and throw it away. The warm bulk was back in no time, and he smiled up into those hazy, sleepy gray eyes with genuine appreciation, but he already missed that weight. Inside him. The stretch and heat and feeling so full.

Of opening up, maybe. Of finally letting someone in.

Chuck traced a thumb over his jawline. "You all right, love?"

"Hm." Sighing and happy and melancholy all at the same time, he lightly traced his fingers down Chuck's back, enjoying the goosebumps that broke out over the kid's arms and chest. "A+ performance, five stars, would definitely fuck again."

A bark of a laugh coughed out of the big dork, and he lifted away to eye him incrediously. "Did you just Yelp review me?"

The Grinch smile took him over before he could even think to stop it. "Is there an answer to that question that won't get me thwapped on the back of the head?"

Snorting, Chuck shifted over to lie next to him, cuddling up and wrapping an arm and a leg over him. "You turn into a real smart ass when you've been well-fucked."

He'd have to hit the bathroom and clean up a bit at some point, as would Chuck. He should probably text both Yancy and Mako to make sure everyone remembered to meet up at the airport at the right time.

But for now, it was sweet and warm to just cuddle up to Chuck's bulk and come down from the two most intense orgasms of his life, which just so happened to have come from his first intercourse with a man.

It had been a long, long day.

Only one more mile to go before he could sleep.

"You're sure you won't move to Alaska?"

A snort -- though Raleigh suspected it was as much an aborted snore as actual amusement -- and Chuck nuzzled against his cheek. "Fuck that, love. I'll visit as much as you want, but no fucking way am I moving to goddamn Alaska."

Well. They'd just see about that.

Smirking, Raleigh fell deeply, blissfully asleep.


	30. EPILOGUE

Chuck didn't move to Alaska. Exactly.

But, to Raleigh's amusement, he did spend a hell of a lot of time there over the next months. And every time he landed back home in Australia, he immediately started making plans for the next trip. Herc -- as Raleigh came to call Chuck's father who was literally named Hercules and somehow lived up to it -- had already hired a kid to take up the slack at the bakery and continually shook his head at the level of denial his son lived in.

But Raleigh didn't push. He wasn't in a hurry, and neither was Chuck.

They did, however, fly into Vegas at the same time while Chuck was kicking ass on another competition show there. Raleigh got them a table at Nobu. Chuck got them into Cirque du Soleil.

They had approximately all the sex. It was the best time Raleigh could remember.

Yancy, of course, was already looking into immigration paperwork and had wink-wink-nudge-nudge hinted about how much easier it'd be if they just got married and worried about the paperwork later. The big jerk -- Yance, not Chuck -- found their constant, good-natured bickering hilarious and couldn't wait for it to be a year-round pleasure.

It also helped that Chuck took to the finally-finished restaurant as if he'd always been there. Raleigh would never forget the first time he led the kid in and turned on the lights. They'd just arranged the tables and were less than a week from the soft opening for locals only, and he'd wanted an outsider's opinion in case they needed to make any drastic changes.

Chuck had gaped for a long moment, then smacked his palm to his forehead. "This is so not what I had in mind."

His heart sank. "What? Why?"

"You're just fucking with me now, aren't you." It wasn't a question. "It's a place called Dee's Diner in fucking Nowhere Alaska. I was expecting... fuck... a greasy spoon, not a four-star dining experience."

The sex had been very good that night, indeed. And after that, every time Chuck visited, he joined Raleigh and Yancy in the kitchen and helped create specials that had even the most casual tourist coming back for more.

So yeah. Yancy loved the kid.

But neither Raleigh nor Chuck were quite ready yet. They enjoyed their time together and missed each other when they had to make do with video chat and texting, but it'd be a huge commitment for Chuck to actually move to the States. Raleigh wouldn't push, and Chuck....

Well, Chuck was too happy with what they had to want to risk it. They talked about things like that right out. Both wanted to know exactly where they stood.

Nothing, however, could have kept Chuck Hansen from hopping a plane to cuddle up with Raleigh in front of the television to watch their episode of The Cutting Board when it finally aired.

Mako promised to text them when it was over. She and Jin would be live-texting back and forth during or they'd have probably tried to video chat the whole thing. But the pair had bonded during a particularly intense Cupcake Wars battle during which they were the only two competitors all season to _not_ subject the judges to red velvet cupcakes, so Raleigh didn't begrudge them their live-texting.

Thus, they found themselves in Raleigh's living room on a lazy Sunday evening when the restaurant was closed, snacks in easy reach, a six-pack of good honey wheat ale in a bucket of ice at their feet. Yancy had taken the sprawling apartment over the restaurant -- excruciatingly well-fireproofed and with two separate fire exits because it was only paranoid when it hadn't already happened -- but Raleigh wanted to stay on in the little house they'd both grown up in. It was weather-beaten, the paint was faded, and there were entirely too many pictures of happier times dotting the walls, but Raleigh didn't mind.

He was living in pretty damn happy times right now. The pictures didn't hurt anymore.

So he was all smiles as they kicked back on his overstuffed couch with their feet propped up on the coffee table and an old quilt thrown over their legs. It started off so well, too, with Chuck saying he looked like a sad, lost puppy as he told the judges about the restaurant burning down with him and Yancy still inside and Raleigh pointing out that by the time they got to the counters, Chuck had already tried to check out Raleigh's ass twice.

"I hated that jumper, precious. It brought out your eyes, but it made the shape of your ass impossible to suss out."

Chuck even graciously admitted that, okay, maybe the whole cuddling up against his back thing really was an accident after all, now that he saw it from the camera's perspective. Raleigh accepted his untendered apology retroactively, causing an elbow spar that ceased as soon as someone almost spilled their beer.

It was all fun and games for the parts of the show they'd both been there for, but they both tensed up a bit as the first private interviews started to be spliced in. Jin's and Mako's were innocent enough, but if Raleigh remembered right, that first interview was when Tendo asked him why he and Chuck broke up. He could only assume the producer had asked Chuck the same question.

So, fidgeting with the bowl of turtle popcorn in his lap -- he admitted freely that he'd made it solely so Chuck would suck chocolate and caramel off his fingers all night -- he watched Chuck's expression more than the screen as his own face popped up. Luckily, instead of looking irritated, the big jerk first raised his eyebrows, then snickered, then shook his head and chuckled, even though Tendo had edited out the snark about the bongos.

"What's so funny?"

"You'll find out, love. Be patient."

Soon enough, there was Chuck, looking pissed and arrogant in equal shares.

"Oh, my God, you look so _angry."_

He was laughing a bit, but he honestly couldn't remember if the kid had really been that furious at the time or if it was just for show.

"Oi, -bleep- if I know, mate. I reckon it's because he wasn't in a good place for a relationship back then, but he was so god-bleep- _distant_ sometimes. Finally, I had enough and dumped his moody ass. For all I know, he'd already dumped me, but I don't care. I was done, so I stopped -bleep-ing ringing him up."

Okay, that was pretty damn funny.

Appalled that they'd come to pretty much the same conclusion as to how a relationship with each other would have gone, he shot Chuck an incredulous look. It was hard to remember sometimes that the big ginger jerk hadn't always been the ridiculous softie Raleigh had come to know and appreciate.

But Chuck just grinned. "We couldn't have done better if we'd scripted it. I bet Elvis got one fuck of a laugh at our expense in editing."

They snickered at their own snarky banter and the judges' surprisingly interested reactions to it, and Chuck did, indeed, suck an adequate amount of chocolate and caramel off of Raleigh's fingers. Unfortunately, they didn't dare get too distracted yet.

Then... the minor disaster with Mako's sandwich burning and sending Raleigh into a small panic attack. Not that it had seemed small at the time.

Chuck put an arm around him and pulled him close while they watched. It was clear that while, yes, the Chuck on the show was fascinated by Raleigh's physique, he had also been genuinely concerned about the shaking hands and jerking, shallow breaths.

"Didn't know what to say, love. I wanted to help somehow, but... well. We weren't as tight as you and Mori, yeah? Thought she could do better than I could, even with her own shit to deal with."

Grinning softly, Raleigh just snuggled close and kept watching. He couldn't wait to see how much of the fight Tendo caught before jumping in to separate them.

Thus, he was completely broadsided by Chuck's private interview. The kid, pre-fight, looked... gut-punched.

"Didn't mean to stare, yeah?" Show Chuck shook his head. "Didn't expect the... extent. Of the scars. I reckon he wasn't as comfortable to show them when we were... but Jesus, I didn't expect...." Another headshake. "Still looks damn good, but for a second there, I just wanted to kiss it and make it better." He huffed and grinned crookedly. "Stupid, yeah?"

Blinking, he looked at current-day Chuck, who blushed a bit and shrugged. "He asked what I was thinking when you tossed that stupid jumper. What the hell could I say?" Dammit, there was the same small, crooked grin. "Went with the truth."

Because Chuck had, indeed, spent a lot of time these past months kissing those scars. But knowing he'd wanted to do so before there was even a chance....

Sighing, he slumped to lean against that comforting, perfect bulk. "Dammit, Hansen. Every time I think I have you figured out."

Chuck didn't comment. He did, however, snuggle him back. The kid was really, really good at that. He even kept it up when Show Raleigh called after Show Mako and she gave him that last, sad smile.

"Jesus, I was jealous as fuck. Didn't know I showed it that much, though." Shaking his head, Chuck huffed. "Thought you two were having a 'parting is such sweet, sweet sorrow' moment, y'know?"

He grinned. "I wondered why you were so pissed off when the judges had basically just polished your dick for you."

That earned a snort. "Your fucking mouth, precious. You'd think I'd be used to it."

Even knowing it was coming, the fire and explosion of the lights made him flinch even now, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in Chuck's lap and let those big hands soothe him. Especially when Show Chuck shoved him off and stood up ready to fight.

"Fuck." The poor guy sounded devastated. "I was such an asshole, Raleigh. Did I apologize for that? Because I fucking well apologize for that."

He shrugged, which conveniently shifted him enough so he could slip an arm behind Chuck's back and cuddle closer still. "You were startled, Chuck. It's okay. Yancy even tried to tell me that at the time because I was too...." Sighing, he gestured vaguely at his head. "Too fucked up to see it for myself."

And that Chuck had been sorry for his behavior even at the time became abundantly clear when they came back out after the clean-up. Show Raleigh had been focused, trying to ignore the situation despite his split lip and aching cheekbone, but Show Chuck had continually snuck little peeks at the competition.

Unfortunately, other than the joke about a lover's spat, there was no sign of the fight itself. Either Tendo hadn't recorded any of it, or he had mercifully left it in pieces on the editing room floor.

Probably for the best.

Especially when Show Chuck eyed Show Raleigh over at the shelves and practically tiptoed over to press up against him.

Smirking, he shook his head. "You didn't need flour, did you?"

"I needed that ass, mate. At that point, I was willing to work for it."

He snorted. The banter over bullshit memories _was_ pretty funny, now that they were watching instead of participating. The judges watched them like a tennis match, Gottlieb rolling his eyes while Sasha and Chau grinned or smirked. Even the audience was obviously entertained by it.

Then, Chau waited just long enough for them to be out of the main studio before slapping the table and declaring, "I ship it."

Chuck snorted. Raleigh put his free hand to his face. Mostly because they'd been two reveals shy of epic blowjobs by that point, and it had been obvious to the entire studio.

"Oh, bloody hell." Shifting, Chuck groaned. "We so look like we just had sex, mate. No wonder Elvis was so pissed."

It had probably taken one hell of an editing job, but somehow, Tendo managed to keep in the "make-up sex" joke while leaving out the explicit details. The banter went from Newt's appalled "Ew!" to Chau's "I ain't complainin'. My ship just went canon", leaving everything in between mercifully out.

Raleigh could only shake his head, much like Show Raleigh, who pleaded to just move on. Chuck snickered and leaned over to kiss his temple.

He loved it when Chuck kissed his temple.

But his attention was soon turned by the enormous difference between the Sudden Death Dessert contest and the entire rest of the show. They still bantered and snarked, of course, but all the undercurrents were gone. Chuck wasn't irritated or furious. Raleigh wasn't depressed or freaked out. In fact, if Raleigh didn't know they were competing, he'd swear they were doing a regular tandem cooking show.

They were... having fun. Just like any given day at the restaurant.

And he wanted that. He still wouldn't push for Chuck to move, but... damn, he'd be ready as hell when it finally happened. Grinning, he cuddled so close that he'd have to literally climb into Chuck's lap to be any closer.

Chuck didn't mind.

Finally... the ending. Their show selves stood close, hand in hand, both anticipating and dreading the announcement. Just as Newt reached for the stupid dish cover, Raleigh's phone rang.

Thinking it might be Mako, he answered without looking. "Yeah?"

"Chef Becket?"

He frowned for a moment, then brightened. "Tendo? Hey, are you watching? This episode is actually pretty damn good. At the time, I figured it'd be a trainwreck, but it's kinda hilarious."

"Hey, brother. I'm glad you're liking it. Is Chef Hansen there with you, by any chance?"

Blinking, he sat up enough to shoot the kid a look. "Yeah, actually. How...?"

"I didn't get an answer on his phone, so I called his father, who said he was staying at your place for a while." It was a careful answer, but Raleigh heard the smirk in the tone. "Can you put me on speakerphone for a minute?"

"Oi, we're missing the best part, love."

"Awww."

Grinning, he held his phone out and tapped the button. "Better cut it out, Choi. You're on speakerphone now."

"Chef Hansen?"

"Elvis."

A snort. "That's you, all right. Look, I'll make it quick. Universal Nutrition wants to offer you two your own cooking show. The buzz from this first episode is overwhelmingly positive. You two are ratings gold. I've been on the phone for the last half hour, hashing out the early details. Whaddya say?"

He blinked, jaw dropped. Chuck looked much the same, though he managed to keep his jaw in place.

"Uh... what kind of show, mate? Thought Chau wanted us banned from competition."

Another snort. "He doesn't have that kind of clout, and we're not talking about a competitive show. We're thinking more like a tandem show where it's just you two bitching at each other and being adorable while making epic, deceptively simple food, just like on The Cutting Board. Kitchen tips, recipes, trading stories or talking about your mom's restaurant or your dad's bakery, whatever. It's a pretty loose concept right now, but UN is all over it. They wanna strike while the iron's hot."

Raleigh managed to shut his mouth enough to make it work. "That... could be complicated, man. Chuck still lives in Australia, and Yance and I run the restaurant six days a week."

Oddly enough, Chuck abruptly glanced away and fidgeted with his beer bottle.

"Huh." Tendo sounded confused. "I just... Mr. Hansen said he thought Chuck was moving to Alaska soon, and UN is pretty sure they can buy a cheap studio space in Anchorage where you could film a couple mornings a week before you open. Is that not...?"

One eyebrow rose. "Chuck?"

"Hm?"

Tendo remained ominously silent.

Raleigh's eyes narrowed. "Something you wanna tell me?"

Grumbling, the big dork shot the phone a dirty look. "I was saving it for after the show. And sex."

"Hey, now."

But Raleigh's focus was unwavering. He had a suspicion. _"Chuck."_

Wrinkling his nose, his big jerk of a ginger Australian boyfriend finally glanced his way. "Fine. I've started throwing money and paperwork about so I can move here full time in a few months. Happy now?"

The building grin was epic. It felt like it was in his chest instead of on his face, growing fast and practically lighting up the whole room.

"Oi, fuck, don't gimme that look, love. I'm not wrecking you on the floor whilst Elvis is on the line."

"Ew. No. Do not do that." Indeed, Tendo sounded appalled. "Just... you'll think about it and get back to me?"

"Bye, Tendo."

Tapping the phone off, he tossed it on the coffee table and launched himself, throwing his arms around that broad torso and damn near cutting off circulation to the lower extremities. Chuck oofed out a breath but held on in return, rubbing those big hands up and down Raleigh's back.

"I take it that's a yes?"

Smiling fit to split his face, he nodded against the big dork's heartbeat. They were a bit tangled up in the quilt, but he didn't mind.

"I was going to tell you tonight, love. I was just waiting for the right moment."

"I know. It's okay." Sighing, he nudged and pushed until Chuck lay back against the couch's arm so he could sprawl over that glorious, familiar, comfortable body. "And yes, I'm very, very happy about it."

"Good."

They lay quiet for a while, ignoring the credits between their show and the next, ignoring the occasional buzz of one phone or the other. They just... cuddled on the couch under a slightly twisted quilt, and it was perfect.

And it would shortly become their norm.

"So... are we doing the show?"

He grinned. "You just wanna make up more fake bad dating history for us."

"Because I'm good at it."

"Yes, you are."

Another easy, uncomplicated quiet fell between them. Chuck ran his fingers through Raleigh's hair, which never failed to render him boneless with bliss. That such strong hands could be so gentle....

"So we're doing the show."

Sighing, he nodded. "Yeah, we're doing the show."

"Bonzer."

He could see it already. Some poor schmuck would have to bleep every fifth word. The camera people would have to be pretty careful not to film all the ass-grabbing. It might actually be difficult to film an entire episode without them making out on-set. There'd be at least one minor food fight per episode.

It would be _epic._

And all because he'd decided to do just one more cooking competition because he needed the prize money.

"Hey, Chuck?"

"Mm?" By the sound of it, the kid was right on the verge of sleep.

So Raleigh was very, very quiet when he spoke again. "Thank you."

A sleepy sigh and another careful scruff of fingers in his hair. "For what, love?"

He grinned. "For being in the wrong place at the worst possible time."

The warm, broad chest under his cheek bounced on a huff of sleepy laughter. "Wanker."

"Love you, too, babe."

"Hn. Still hate it when you call me that."

The grin tilted into a smirk. "I can fix that, you know."

That glorious body tensed.

"You did say I could call you 'babe' when I went down on you."

He loved it when those big hands tightened like that. It meant very good things were about to happen.

"That's not how that conversation went."

Smirking deeper, he shoved up enough to look down into those fascinating gray eyes. "You're really gonna argue when I'm offering you a blowjob?"

Chuck quirked a smirk to match his own. "I'm sorry, was I saying something?"

"That's what I thought."

There wasn't a lot of talk after that.

Probably for the best.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to [estei-feist](http://estei-feist.tumblr.com/) for the perfect suggestion that these two clownshoes should have their own cooking show after this. She always has THE BEST suggestions and is wonderful in every way.
> 
> Also, to everyone who made suggestions for mystery ingredients and enjoyed the updates on tumblr, thank you so much. I hope this lives up to the expectation, and I hope you all enjoy it.


End file.
